Ruby Slippers
by Vanya-Deyja
Summary: Albus is probably mad. Luckily Scorpius has never really cared, he's rather endearing that way, it may however lead them into trouble. Never trust magic mirrors. Slash: Al/Scorp, HP/LV.
1. Chapter 1

_**Ruby Slippers~**_

A/N: Hey ladies and gents, it's been an era since I posted anything so you lot and I are going to have to tackle this as we go! Time for some audience interaction! Anyway; (canon almost) Albus/Scorpius with a delicious side helping of (AU) Harry/Voldemort. Rating will rise and I assure you lovelies it all comes together in good time.

As for the rest- if you have any questions fire away, if you'd like to review I'd love to hear from you, annotations at the bottom for anything needing clarification, a stack intertextual references (if you can catch them all I'll give you a prize~) and do _try _and have fun wont you? Should never take life too seriously~

Rating: eventual M  
369 = scene shift  
3-6-9 = a little bit more~

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Chapter 1: "Pearls for Stars"

_Albus S. Potter_ it read in almost illegible black script on the sheet of paper handed to Scorpius Malfoy as he sat stiffly in the waiting room of Saint Mungo's. He twisted his tongue uncomfortably in his mouth, frown never faltering as he peered round the assembled couches and magazines at the other occupants: James Potter was flicking through an issue of the Prophet, feet tapping, chin in hand, while his mother Mrs. Potter beside him gazed miserably off into space and Scorpius' father beside him looked reverently at his watch every few moments.

"You can go," Scorpius whispered apathetically, "It's okay, I don't mind waiting by myself."

"Are you sure?" Draco murmured supportively but the jitter in his glances towards the door of the ward gave his faltering away sufficiently, alerting the stone faced teenager that he was nothing if not eager to take the opportunity to leave.

"I'm fourteen. Not four." He shrugged. "It's just a hospital."

"I'll be back after my meeting, shouldn't be too long," the man was already on his feet rearranging his suit and brushing some nonexistent dust off his cuffs. "I'm very sorry Scorpius; you will tell Albus that your mother and I are thinking of him won't you?"

The blonde waved his hand flippantly, grey eyes still primed on the double doors leading towards the patient rooms, while his father scurried off to Ministry business his expensive shoes clicking on the white wash flooring. Guardian gone he wondered briefly if Mr. Potter was also busy at work in the Auror department or if he to, like Scorpius' own father, was trolling through the piles of paper work stacked on his desk. Scorpius hated to imagine how big those piles were during the war but he wouldn't strain his mind for the moment when there were more pressing things to imagine about.

His favourite thing to wonder lately and most especially over the end of year break, when there was nothing else to think about in-between his Grandfather's criticism and his Grandmother's fussing, was how exactly he was going to sue the Potters once he finished school. He had the entire thing plotted out in his head to a T of course.

It wasn't exactly that he disliked the Potters, he rather liked Mr. Potter and James wasn't detestable either, but he simply had no intention of letting Albus' medical future rest in their hands for much longer. Ginny Potter, _Weasley _his father always stumbled when greeting her, was protective but irrational concerning her children and if given control of the situation would no doubt have her second son committed for the duration of his natural life.

Scorpius had long since decided, in first year to be precise, when he and Albus had both befriended each other in Slytherin house, that he would not allow the undeniably strange but sweet Potter to be trapped in a straight jacket. It would be a criminal waste of imagination and personality in his opinion. As his best friend, only friend really, the Malfoy intended to have Albus moved to his residence at one of the Malfoy Manors and continue their lives from there out of the prying reach of Mrs. Potter.

As far as space and practicality was concerned Scorpius doubted Albus would ever marry or have children, though on occasion he did hope for it, simply because the thought of his companion's legacy, blood, dying out was a frightful prospect for a young man of pureblood heritage and tradition. He also doubted Albus would ever be completely normal but he was happy to endure those oddities which in their own way attracted him.

"Dear?" he stirred from his contemplation in perfect composure as the dark haired nurse cooed down at him, "Would you like to go in now? He said he'd very much like to see you."

Of course he wanted to see him, Scorpius scoffed to himself as he stood. It wasn't like Albus would like to see James or his mother when he was delicate and Scorpius was the only person who would have brought any items which the Potter would actually wish for.

Shuffled into the small private room, apparently befitting a hero's son, Scorpius shut the door behind him before the nurse could place her foot in the gap and casually stroll in to join or oversee the pair. Albus twisted under the white bedding, looking painfully small and predictably pale, while Scorpius strode closer to sink into the chair closest the cot.

"You didn't have to come." He mumbled contentedly, the same dreamy smile he always seemed to have plastered over his face, speaking as if they were at a garden party and not a hospital. "Really you could have done much more interesting things with your time then visiting me in this awful place."

"I don't know, I rather like to think of it as our semi-official club house, we spend enough time here after all."

"We need jackets with the hospital insignia" Albus nodded, dragging himself up to sit against the wall behind, one leg over another under the sheet, fingers clasped formally in his lap. "It shall be our first order of business"

"Though… we have other matters of business to consider at this point." Scorpius pondered, elbows on the edge of the bed as he leant forward conspiratorially, "Much more pressing issues have arisen."

"You're quite right I'm sure." Albus agreed, brushing the fingers of one hand through his dishevelled hair, "We haven't even discussed Lemon Drops yet and you've already been here for three minutes and twelve seconds. My mind is in such a shambles. Really: jackets before Lemon Drops? I must be unwell, but my impending lobotomy aside- you did bring me some didn't you?"

"I hardly think it's kosher in a hospital." Scorpius chided solemnly. "Merlin knows they might set off your _delicate condition_."

"Oh rubbish." Albus huffed dramatically, regarding the nails on one hand as he crossed both arms over his chest, "And besides what kind of Slytherin would you be if you didn't sneak in contraband for our amusement?"

"A very poor one I'm sure," He sighed dipping a long fingered hand into his pockets and relinquishing the sweets to his squealing friend. "Great Uncle Severus would be rolling about in his grave at the very thought of a Malfoy appearing valiant in the face of regulations."

"Very much so," the Potter boy cooed supportively, fingers scrambling to free the gumdrop of sugar from its crinkling plastic prison, popping it unceremoniously into his mouth and allowing it to sit sticky on his tongue while he spoke. "So what other tokens of love and devotion does my grand hero bring forth?"

"None until you answer these riddles three." The Malfoy taunted as he unhooked his scarf from round his neck.

"Oh bugger, you foul thing, you've gone from Knight to Knave in less then ten seconds."

"Grandfather will be proud." Scorpius proclaimed clutching his hand to his chest. "At any rate, we're not getting any younger-"

"Your hairline is receding as we speak-"

"-As is your eyesight," The blonde retorted tapping Albus' fidgeting digits as they scrambled over his lap for a second Lemon Drop. "Now then; what in the name of Voldemort's knickers did you do to end up here this time?"

Albus giggled uncontrollably, hand flying up to block the escape of treacherous candy from his mouth, as his throat bounced with the hysteria. Coughing weakly he patted his chest to calm himself, taking one deep intake of oxygen through his nose, free hand gesticulating in the air while he swallowed.

"You're going to make me choke one day." He laughed contentedly, hands falling back into his lap, while Scorpius stared quietly at the green and black stripped nail polish in satisfaction. "Just another nightmare really. I don't know what all the bother is, I mean, Dad has them all the time but apparently I wasn't in a war so I'm not allowed. There's a card or something you need, it's like a pension from what I've heard."

"What was it about?"

"Voldemort's knickers."

Scorpius swatted the other boy's bouncing knee through the white sheets.

"Alright, alright," Albus' green eyes rolled in his head. "I was in a house."

"Were you old again?" Scorpius suggested as Albus paused to consider his next sentence "_Deliriously old_ as you put it last time?"

"No, no, no" Albus shook his head, tresses bouncing, tapping his lower lip thoughtfully with his index finger. "This time I think I was myself, I must have been in my uniform because I remember distinctly tying my tie round my wrist."

"A horrid habit really," He taunted, "You always get the end caught in doors, or on banisters-"

"Or in the gaping drooling orifices of man eating plants," Albus reminded him as an aside, "Yes but I was me, as much me as I can be in a dream anyway, and I was in a house. Your Grandmother would've died; it was_ filthy_, pitch black, filled with rats and rotting things and broken things."

"Was there anyone in the house?"

"No, I was all alone, until I found a mirror and the mirror had black glass. There was a boy in the mirror too and he looked very much like me-"

"Such is the nature of mirrors Albus."

"Well yes, except this boy wasn't me. I mean he was similar but he wasn't me and I started speaking to him and it got very cold…suddenly I knew who he was, where I'd seen him before I mean, but then everything was all loud and topsy turvy in my head like I might puke…then it wasn't the boy in the mirror any more but someone else." The Potter raised his hand before his face as he spoke as if to reach out to touch the imaginary glass. "And they were…I don't know…but I knew them too…and then…I'm not sure but everything was wrong somehow."

"Who were they?"

"I don't know," He muttered casually hand slumping as the trance lifted, "Or rather I can't remember because in the dream I knew but now I don't. That was why I was so scared when I woke up: because of who they were."

"A bad dream is hardly a reason to bring you to Saint Mungo's"

"Well yes but the sleep walking was very disconcerting for Mama Dearest."

"You were sleep walking again?"

"Yes, I woke up sitting on the kitchen table. Screaming." He laughed once more, the distance in his eyes fading suddenly, while he began to smile. "I made it down the stairs and everything!"

"Wonderful." Scorpius clapped demurely while the smiling boy cooed across to him. "You are now entirely capable of wandering straight into the Forbidden Forest one night this term. We shall sell tickets and place bets and it shall be merry."

"Tie some first years to me and make a show of it."

"Speaking of," the Malfoy prompted, digging once again through the pockets of his robes to retrieve a wad of letters he handed delicately to the Potter, "Our First Year's Extravaganza is looking as though it's going to be more spectacular than last year, or the year before. I've gotten everyone in Slytherin a place they can be first evening of term whether they wish to take part in the ceremony or not. The majority of which I had to organize without you but you'll get your things for the event on the train and you shant complain."

Albus shuffled through the pages quietly, muttering aloud some of the cursive signatures donning the reply posts in awe, a wondrous glitter filling his eyes at the thought.

"Fantastic…" He cooed reverently, "I love initiation night more than our inter-program I must admit- Lucinda Clagg? You got her to agree? You are a genius…But who's doing what this year? Which stage did you decide on?"

"Triwizard tournament." The blonde teen replied casually, "Seemed the obvious next choice, I assumed you'd be our antagonist this year-"

"Oh but Scorp you said!-"

"I know, I know, but I grew my hair out so long last year I look far too much like my Grandfather to pull it off, too tall as well, so I'll have to be our one of our supporting roles-"

"No you won't!" Albus retorted, waving the stack of papers and prodding their ends into Scorpius' chest in a succession of quick jabs. "If I'm the antagonist you'll be the protagonist! No one will see your hair if we put you in the hooded dress cloak and you tie the blasted stuff back for once."

"Just like second year then," He surrendered lazily with a final sigh, "You'll think of after school specials while I sandpaper my throat and channel the spirit of great grandpa Abraxas."

Albus snorted and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his pale ear, forfeiting the letters to Scorpius once more to stow, turning his reverence back to the remaining Lemon Drops in his lap.

"Hey," the dark haired boy sounded hesitantly, leaning back deeper into his slouch, while he rolled the Lemon Drop against his cheek with his tongue. "Do you think I'm insane?"

"I know you are," Scorpius clicked his tongue dismissively, "That's why we're such good friends."

"I knew I loved you for a reason." He caught himself on a thought; "Well, another reason along with your innate ability to keep me to my ears in Lemon Drops with that inheritance of yours"

"Well that goes without saying."

Smile comfortably and firmly set in Albus' eyes as well as on his lips the Potter sunk into the final rotation of his up and down sitting game to lay perfectly dishevelled among the newly askew bed sheets. One hand fell by his cheek, clutching the last of the sweets in his palm, resting between his face and Scorpius' crossed wrists on the edge of the cot. Staring up into the composed features of the Malfoy he smacked his lips together with an almost inaudible pop. Knowing the routine better then he cared to recount Scorpius clicked his tongue one final time and their goodbye was exchanged satisfactorily.

-369-

Compartment thirty six of the Hogwarts Express had been unofficially claimed since first year. Fifth year was no different therefore and when Scorpius entered it eight days later to see Albus licking his right index finger for the last remains of his chocolate frog, flicking the pages of his History of Magic text, all was pristinely right with the world.

Three compartments down James S. Potter was singing a Quidditch World Cup song with a few jeering companions in his typically harmless but boisterous fashion. The mere thought of the hectic mess they were no doubt making forced the Malfoy to subconsciously straighten his tie. James was a good character, a reasonably good brother too, or at least if Scorpius had to have a brother he wouldn't have minded the act of enduring James. Truth be told however in the depths of his mind the blonde could not wait for their final year of Hogwarts- James free. Two compartments up Lily Potter and Rose Weasley were undoubtedly exchanging beauty and study tips in equally polar amounts to each other and somewhere in the midst would be Hugo Weasley.

All three Potters accounted for Scorpius was seated besides Albus, their legs crossed upon the seats adjacent, his calves resting comfortably on the leather and Albus' ankles just hooking on the edge of the seat. He strained to remember when they'd first meet in the compartment and his legs had been as spindly and as short as Albus'.

"Chocolate frog Scorp?"

"No thank you"

"I've been plotting," Albus admitted putting his book down and pressing their thighs side by side, "I think we should raid the shrieking shack."

"Why?" He grimaced, "That sounds dreadfully like something James and Hugo would do for kicks"

"I think it bears too striking a resemblance to part of my dream to ignore." The smaller rested his cheek on Scorpius' shoulder, blinking angularly from under his pitch fringe with a smirk, "It'll be an adventure."

"I'm not one for adventures." He retorted sharply, frowning furrowing his eyebrows, "They always seem to end so tragically. I mean look at your father; seventeen years of heartache, trauma and torture to spend the rest of his life dully traipsing the suburban dream of a nuclear family"

"Does the United Pessimist's Guild send you a Christmas card? Because they should."

Scorpius reached his hand out, curling back, upper arm crushed under Albus' crooning form to pat the boy's pale cheek. It was undeniable that through some twisting and turning of the conversation, an epically well practiced art form, manipulation would be used to lure Scorpius into believing that he wanted to go to the Shrieking Shack. Being a Slytherin he understood Albus' technique and his goals but the doe eyes and the broken-glass-sharp smirk created such a conflicting image of beauty he simply couldn't resist.

"First we deal with our House duties"

"Such a loyalist" the green eyed teen tsked teasingly before letting the conversation lapse into a comfortable silence the likes of which was common among them. It seemed to Albus, he'd once admitted, that James always needed to be talking to feel comfortable whereas the younger Potter preferred silence as his herald that all was right with the world. Scorpius being one never to speak unless there was something to be said was happy with the arrangement.

The moments ticked by, train huffing and puffing ever closer to their destination, and still Albus lay squished between the Malfoy and the window head lulling on the other's shoulder. Scorpius took to reading the copy of their latest History of Magic text while slowly but surely Albus fell into a doze. Sighing detestably as he overlooked the latest chapter on the Goblin Wars he returned to the index in hopes of finding something more exciting. Elegant fingers ran over the lines, periodically connecting chapter titles to their page references, and discovering a promising title he flipped through the pages to seven hundred and sixteen: Grindelwald.

An hour elapsed, then another, the trolley came and went. Chocolate Frogs, Liquorish Wands and Lemon Drops bought with the considerable allowance typical of a young Malfoy while the information spread across his lap was also devoured. James passed their compartment door thrice, once passing back in his Gryffindor uniform with Hugo likewise, again with Lily in her Hufflepuff black and yellows, and finally with an armful of sweets stopping ever so slightly to regard his baby brother curled up against the blonde.

It was after this third passing that Albus began to twitch, in the fingers curled round Scorpius' forearm reflexively first, until his ankles too were knocking his feet about. With a tiny moan he set to work stirring Albus from what was no doubt another fitful dream. Twisting onto his side, chest to chest, with the leaning body of the smaller boy he grabbed his shoulders.

"You know…" Albus frowned in his sleep as he muttered, "…Can't… I mean…but then…if he finds… I'd rather cats…well…_ja_…_ja_…_ja_…"

He quirked his brow as the pale Potter began to repeat the phrase over and over in an array of badly imitated accents, lips quirking on his sleeping face, a giggle emerging somewhere between the syllables. Pausing in his quest to observe Scorpius thought, foolishly, for a moment that perhaps this time he could let Al continue to sleep. Then, of course, the track changed…

"Severus…how'd…I…" The smile faded, lips tightened, entire face contracting as Albus scrunched up his features distastefully. "You can't …your blood…lonely…me too…still…who…? I know… dead…shouldn't he…dead…"

Shoulders convulsed, shuddering, as the mumbles picked up speed. Wrapping one arm squarely around both shoulders he squeezed the Potter to his chest to restrain him before slapping him gently across the cheek with the lengths of his fingers. Albus convulsed once more, shaking uncontrollably, emitting a strangled moan before his eyelids flew apart.

He fell limp, tension easing from his muscles, burying his face into Scorpius neck, fingers flying up to tangle and dip in his breast pocket as the Potter composed himself.

"Sorry," He whispered hesitantly, "Another dream…"

"What was it this time?"

"I can't remember" He replied sourly, "I really can't, but it may come back to me later…"

"You were talking in your sleep."

"Walking in my sleep, and now talking?" Albus laughed, "I can write a poem, lovely Scorp, I thank you profusely for noting it"

"You were talking about blood, death, and Severus Snape" He grumbled evenly, trying to reinforce the seriousness of the situation, "Not to mention there was some bad German there for a while."

"I can't remember." He insisted again and Scorpius was driven to believe him for the moment. Easing his grip round the bony shoulders the Malfoy allowed his friend some room to breath and pushing off the broad chest with his fisted palms Albus leant back into the cold glass of the window.

"We're going to be arriving soon. You should get changed."

"You're like a checklist." Albus cooed in response. "What about my costume?"

"It's in my trunk." He whispered, "Everyone else has found their own, they've informed me, but I borrowed ours from one of the old wardrobes in Manor."

"Real deal then?"

"Yes," Scorpius admitted, "Grandfather's and Father's with their masks."

"Will they notice?"

"No, they certainly shouldn't, they were locked in the attic. Still, frightfully good condition though for things that have been through a war, makes me think the house elves have been keeping tabs on them."

"Can you get them out now? So I can look?"

"No time. They'll get confiscated." He shrugged, "We'll wait till after dinner when we slip back. the Prefects are going to keep the first years busy for thirty minutes or so while we get ready, it'll be a tight schedule tonight."

"I almost wish you didn't have to return them." Albus looked sullen.

"You haven't even seen them yet."

"No but I can image with some awe."

"So I've noticed." Scorpius sighed.

"You know what they say; behind every great man is another man staring at his ass."

"No that's just what you say."

"It's true though."

"Well I indeed have a lovely ass."

"So I've noticed," Albus parroted cheekily, "I'll be beating girls off your with a stick this year."

In his heart Scorpius was more than happy for Al to do so. None of the ungraceful pureblood simpletons trying to coax him into their webs were of any real interest to him and he imagined he'd marry foreign. Some strangely accented woman with poor enough English for him to safely insult while still in the same room and who would undoubtedly leave for most of the year for various events, family occasions and hopefully a lover. It was somewhat horrid of him to wish such a thing but so long as he fulfilled the family expectations and spat out a fair haired son to inherit the sorted line he could spend his days with Albus, and the son in question if he was of any merit, in his home, in peace.

He was happy to die antisocial and rich without fantastical expectations of love or adventure. His life was planned before he was even born and he was content with it now that he was old enough to make alterations which allowed him his own comfort: like Albus' inclusion to the grand Malfoy scheme.

Then there was the pleasing reality that James, being approachable and physically desirable, drew the attention of the Potter gold-diggers and glory-hounds. He didn't know what he'd do with himself if some pretty third year started throwing herself on Albus like they did James. He hoped that if the dreaded prospect ever surfaced he could send the little bitch crying.

-369-

Scorpius stared up and down the long bare oak table of the Slytherin house while the sorting hat went through its predictable motions of prodding and shuffling the students into groups. Names rang out through the hall in Mr. Longbottom's shaking and muffled voice in alteration with the booming announcements of the sorting hat. Tapping his fingers on the wood of the table the blonde let his eyes wander across the staff over the aging Mrs. McGonagall (returned from her retirement) to the pitiful batch of new students moving from one foot to another. Surely he never looked so vulnerable up there? His gaze next ventured to the other houses, neck craning slightly to try and see over the heads of his housemates on the opposite side of the table. In Hufflepuff Lily was giggling with an unsightly pimple faced boy, in Ravenclaw Rose was glaring matronly at the whispering students surrounding her, and in Gryffindor Hugo and James were pulling faces at each other.

Finally he settled on his own position. To his left Xavier Zabini was inspecting the newest additions to Slytherin with a keen eye, shooting the Malfoy a meaningful smirk, and to his right Albus had his head thrown back, hands steadying him as he gripped the edges of the bench, staring intently up mouth slightly ajar. Ponderous Scorpius pushed his own head back up at the star speckled ceiling;

"What?" He question Albus inquisitively.

"I think it might rain" He whispered back, "Not the omen I was hoping for."

"Oh?"

"No…" Albus frowned, "I wanted thunder."

"Why? What's the difference?" Scorpius muttered. He'd never much cared for the inexact science of Divination but still Albus seemed to hold some weight in his own derived set of predictions and signs though how he'd come to them the Malfoy would never know. They changed from day to day affected, it seemed, by a number of factors working unanimously to form Albus' conclusion.

"Rain means mess." He sighed, "Washes away all the sense, all the boundaries, all the logic, all the predictability. A muddy month."

"Hm," the blonde thrummed in the back of his throat. "I always thought rain meant the condensation of water particles in the atmosphere."

"That too." The Potter nodded, eyes never wavering from the clouds, "Geoffrey Bulstrode is staring at you."

"Figures" Scorpius too kept his eyes primed on the ceiling and while he had not seen Albus look away to gather this information he didn't doubt it to be true. "Camp little devil isn't he?"

"Has the hips for it," Albus agreed blandly, "I could never pull off booty shorts like he no doubt can."

"Yes but he's rather hairy," Scorpius replied critically in the same monotone, "Would require a serious wax, beside you'd look glorious in an evening gown or some bloomers and knee high socks alternatively, you do have nice thighs."

"Thank you," Albus quirked, "I have a new pair of black and green thigh high socks now that you mention it."

"We'll acquire some of Belladonna Burrow's bloomers then for Halloween. I hear she has some very unique pairs with lace edging."

"Who shall I be?"

"Marie Antoinette perhaps, a modern take, I'm sure Nearly-Headless-Nick will approve immensely."

"Marvellous." As straight faced as ever Albus ignored the dumfounded gawk from the first year who'd taken up a spot on his other side. "You have such lovely hair but since that growth spurt in third year you're much too masculine, elegant indeed but masculine, for a dress."

"A pity. We'll have to grow your hair out again. It was beginning to curl when you left it about your shoulders."

"Ah…"

The pair diverted their gaze, heads tilted ever so slightly from their vigil on the stars, to regard the now quietly stuttering first year beside Albus. Under the empty plainness and calm of their eyes he flushed brilliantly red, looking pointedly at his lap;

"Sor-sorry didn't mean to interrupt you." His fingers frayed on the cusp of his lips out of nervous habit it appeared from the massacred finger nails.

"No harm done." Scorpius shrugged.

"You have such lovely hands." Albus interjected tapping the back of the boy's palm, "You shouldn't bite them so much, no girl's going to let you stick your hand in her nethers with those claws."

The boy spluttered over his own tongue and turned an impossibly brighter shade of red. Fingers twittering through his hair as they dove away from his mouth in response to the suggestiveness of the comment.

"O-oh-kay!"

"Albus S. Potter." The dark haired youth introduced nudging Scorp in prompt to do likewise.

"Scorpius A. Malfoy."

"Nicholas Catchlove." The first year replied, if only out of nervous courtesy, and matter settled Scorpius wished to return promptly to ignoring him.

The last three names were read off by Mr. Longbottom and leaning himself forward Scorpius scented the newly manifested food filling the table. Nicholas gasped loudly at the wonder of it and Scorpius sighed irritably. Really, you'd think no one had house elves anymore. Arranging his cutlery to one side he half stood to shovel bits and pieces from one bowl and another onto his plate as the roar of student conversation picked up in a raging sea around him. Albus raised himself, half under Scorpius' chest, and did like wise. The Malfoy didn't concern himself with the proximity, Albus had a habit of getting under people's feet, and while the Potter strained to reach a gravy boat he leant over the top of him and gripped the item himself.

"You and your long arms." Albus cooed appreciatively, coating his plate with the substance before allowing Scorpius to return it. Plates satisfactorily arranged they sat back against the wall, silver wear clinking and clunking about them.

"I went to France," Belladonna exclaimed to her horde across the table, "Got the loveliest fur lined coat."

"You always go to bloody France," Xavier cut in curtly with a snort, "Some of us spent the break studying up, not me _obviously_, but some of us no doubt."

The girls sighed, heads shaking, eyes rolling and returned to their squabbling while Xavier chuckled. Geoffrey Bulstrode continued to look dejectedly between his dinner and Scorpius apparently wishing to exchange one with the other.

"What did you do Malfoy?" He attempted somewhat hesitantly, "For the summer I mean"

"Endured my overbearing relatives." The blonde retorted bluntly, frankly uninterested in conversation with the other student or anyone for that matter, "And visited Albus."

"Mungo's again?" Zabini suggested.

"Of course," Albus replied openly, "They can't get enough of me."

"Always knew you were bonkers Potter!" Someone called further down the table.

"Yes but insane or not he's never French kissed his sister _Angus Dorkins!_" Xavier defended, unnecessarily loud as he stressed the guilty parties name, sending a group of third years between him and the other boy into fits of hysterics. "Now I know Purebloods are all for purity but that's a little medieval even for your lot, don't you think?"

"Egyptian actually," Scorpius corrected. "Pharaohs married their sisters to keep the line pure."

"Well screw me seven ways to Sunday!"

"That would require a time turner I assume," Albus muttered ponderously while he placed another mouthful of carrots pass his pink lips, "I wonder if there's a rule against it somewhere…"

"If you can find someone who'll let me borrow theirs I'll find out for you" Xavier assured him excitably.

"No, no, I think we can do without that," Scorpius replied head shaking slowly. "I'm not having any part in explaining to your parents my involvement in your expulsion for repeated sex on school grounds with the use of stolen goods."

"Look awesome on my résumé."

"Considering your career choices I'm sure it would." The blonde snapped calmly while he skewered a piece of steak, "But some of us are interest in legally acceptable professions."

"I'm interested in professions which involve flying monkeys and a hot pair of ruby heels." Albus sighed merrily with a meaningful smile to Scorpius. "Best movie ever."

"This is the part where I'd go; _hey Malfoy what the fuck is Potter talking about?_" Xavier began, waving his fork about animatedly, "But I don't ever know what the bloody hell you're talking about Al so I'm going to let it drop."

"Smart man," Scorpius nodded curtly, "Keep this up and you'll earn yourself a place in my evil army."

"Ev-evil army?" Nicholas squeaked.

"Eavesdropping is a _filthy_ habit." He grumbled pointedly as his nerves began to fray. Scorpius never did posses much patience for people who lacked the skill to speak properly or the confidence to back up their actions especially if said actions were undesirable. "You may earn yourself a cell in Azkaban in my authoritarian future."

"Without ruby slippers." Albus added sombrely. "Lot of good clicking your heels will do then."

"What the…" Xavier let his speech trail off as he clutched his forehead, gesticulating with his free hand, "Is ruby slippers some secret code word I haven't been clued in on?"

"No," Scorpius shrugged, "His speech is, in this case, to be taken as a literal translation."

"And now you've lost me too." Zabini huffed, chest heaving, turning away towards the other boys squawking about.

"Are you really going to raise and evil army?" Nicholas queered softly. "I mean, like You-Know-Who?"

"If I do you will be the first to know about it I _assure_ you."

"In his horrible dystopian future we'll all toil endlessly in the Lemon Drop mines." Albus imparted sadly, "It will be terrible. Delicious but terrible."

"I'd need to enchant Lemon Drop mines into existence." The Malfoy frowned, "And that seems like a damnable waste of effort just to torment my despairing subjects."

"You'd be evil enough to do it."

"Perhaps you're right."

As the evening began to wind down Scorpius observed as slowly but surely the upper years of the Slytherin table began to subtly disperse back to the common room while the first years, still not privy to it's location or how to access it, sat dumbly in their places waiting for the meal to end so the prefects could escort them. He counted slowly, biding his time to make sure the exits were casual and distinctly spaced, it was critical in Scorpius' mind that no suspiciously large groups departed all at once. Time becoming short, Albus nudged his knee softly under the table and the pair stood.

Along the outer wall of the Great Hall they made their way out into the corridors and down towards the dungeons. Albus hooked his arm through Scorpius' and the Malfoy in response held it slightly aloft to support the others hand in the crook of his elbow like a gentleman escorting a lady out onto the dance floor. They smiled lazily and as the myriad of other students littering the corridors dispersed to allow them through and in passing they heard the first of this year's mutterings.

"Another new year, another batch of whispers," Scorpius droned sourly before raising the pitch of his voice comically and spiralling into a tone that sounded vaguely like his mother's "Look it's the _other _Potter in _Slytherin_ didn't you know and there, see? _Malfoy_, that's right; _Scorpius Malfoy._ Best friends apparently, darn near inseparable! Mighty _suspicious_ if you ask me"

"You do wonderful impressions" Albus commended, laughing softly, "They always get bored of gossiping anyway. That's how it is."

"Yes. First they find out, then they think we're up to something, then they think we're lovers, then they realize they're not ever going to know either way and James will kiss anything that walks and is therefore a much more interesting story to chase after."

"Our stories are quiet," Albus admitted, "But interesting."

"I suppose." The Malfoy shrugged.

"You don't really care if you're interesting though."

"Not really."

"That's why you are." Albus explained, "Because you don't care if you are."

"I'll have to work on caring then." He decided. "Anything to shut them up."

Ushering themselves down the steps towards the dungeon and from the dungeon into the soft green illumination of the common room, where most of the house was preparing itself for the arrival of the first years, Scorpius paused to take a quick head count. Those who did not want to participate were in their dorm rooms and had agreed not to interrupt until informed the initiation was over, those who were taking part were either changing into their costumes, or had changed and were rearranging the furniture to suit their needs.

Zabini and Bulstrode greeted them as they passed while heaving one great green leather arm chair to a central spot before the fireplace. Lucinda Clagg was indeed dressed for the occasion this year as promised, much to Albus' delight, lingering round one of the couches conversing with Angus Dorkins from dinner who was currently helping Belladonna tighten her corset.

They slipped into their dorm room where Scorpius' trunk was waiting. Unlocking the clasp he began rummaging through the piles of clothing while Albus' nimble fingers starting un-looping his tie and un-buttoning his cuffs. Finding the desired items Scorpius laid them out on the bed delicately, his grandfather's on one side and his father's on the other, dipping his hand back to grab the silver tinted masks strapped to the inside of the lid of his trunk before laying them on the bed also. Albus turned, half his shirt un-buttoned, to inspect the black robes spread across the green sheeting.

"Death Eater robes," he whispered in awe, "Perfect."

Hair falling about his face as he bowed forward Albus ran his fingers over the embroidered vests, testing the thickness of the battle padding, and circling the buttons.

"You've out done yourself Scorp."

"I don't know why you should like them so much." He commented, making quick work of his own tie and shirt, "You're father almost got killed by the men wearing these clothes last time they saw the light of day."

"Exactly." Albus agreed. "They're fantastic."

Slipping his shirt over his head Albus gripped the robes and began to don them with quivering fingers. Staring down at his own mass of black fabric Scorpius wondered for a moment what it had been like for his Grandfather on the occasions he wore these clothes, or on the occasions where he was faced with the legendary Lord Voldemort.

Fully clad in black Albus clutched himself, hugging the robes tighter to his form as if trying to bury them in his skin, breathing in the scent of blood and dirt that still lingered about them deeply. Green eyes were clasped tightly shut while he savoured the moment, tongue moistening his bottom lip slowly, making Scorpius ponder for if nothing but a split second if Albus really could taste it while lost in some unspoken fantasy never before disclosed to the Malfoy. They'd skirted round the subject of the Dark Lord all these years, the war too, and yet it was so contradictory to their celebrations and their plots within the Slytherin house. Somehow however Scorpius was ashamed of his heritage, ever so slightly, and Albus was obviously unwilling to discuss his views on the Potter line. Still the Malfoy often put their lack of conversation on the matter down to medical concerns- tales of old time blood and gore surely wouldn't help Albus sleep at night.

Now was not the time for contemplation he chided, his own fingers tracing about the embroidery over his breast, now was the time to slip into another fantastical game.

"_Common sense may tell you that the ending will be bad and now's the time to break and run away,_" Albus hummed dazedly, sinking into a slouch on the edge of the mattress, "_But what's the use of wondering if the ending will be sad: he's your fella and you love him, there's nothing else to say…_" (1)

He never did care for Muggle music.

-369-

Nicholas shuffled down the stairs between his quiet stern faced fellows. His wide eyed face in the pale light was most noticeable to Scorpius from where he sat and somewhere in the room beyond the reach of the lights Albus was scrunched impossibly small and vigil. Scorpius couldn't deduce for the life of him where his dark haired friend was hiding but he'd know soon enough.

The first years were led into position in the centre of the common room. Lined rows of masked and cloaked students flanked them on either side, some lazing in the couches, some standing firm behind them, eyes directed in front to one ominously positioned green leather armchair before the roaring fire. The prefects escorting the ragamuffin group of tired and painfully nervous students came to stand on either side of the hooded and masked figure in the chair.

"I would like to formally welcome all new additions to the prestigious house of Slytherin," The reclining man announced arms opening outwards, a fine pale hand sweeping over the group, "You have found yourself part of our little family tonight. As such from this day forth you represent us and all that we and our forefathers have stood for."

There was a heavy silence over the children and those at the front of the group looked anxiously between each other and the looming fingers of other masked students about them for some hint in the air of which way they should turn. Floundering in their uncertainty they remained.

"Many of you no doubt have illusions concerning the _reformed_ nature of our House," the man continued eloquently, "I can assure you this propaganda is nothing but frivolous fantasies strung together by an assortment of aging fools. We are as we have always been and neither our pride, nor our devotion to the cause shall crumble quietly into the darkness of history. We must now look forward to a glorious future that you yourselves will help forge from the sweat of your backs and the blood of your enemies. Tonight you begin your part in this grand chapter by swearing your allegiance to myself and your brethren in a blood oath."

The students at the outer ring of the cluster looked positively aghast to Scorpius and around him the older cloaked occupants had already taken a nearly unnoticeable step closer to the cornered horde.

From some unseen pocket on the man's breast, inside the hem of his cloak, the man drew his wand.

"Those of you who find some fault with the purification of our kind should never have been placed in this house and as traitors in mind, as you will eventually be in body should your disloyalty be allowed to survive, shall be put to death."

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The spell rung out from somewhere beyond the reach of the green glass shaded lamps and sent the cloaked ring leader's wand flying from his grasp.

At the call half the cloaked students threw off their masks and began drawing against the still masked half of the group of some apparent loyalty to their ring leader. Spells flew across the room, furniture toppled, as an unmasked Zabini and Bulstrode leapt over and off one of the leather couches and onto one of the low tables to shoot incantations out into the crowd.

Hysterically terrified the first years took the chance to flee, scrambling under the feet of the duelling students and making a rush for the exit. Finding it locked and with no previous education in any kind of spell work to unlock it several began pounding on the stone wall. A group of masked students drove the first years back towards the centre of the room in conjoint with the unmasked students as they duelled in circles round the dormitory. Still Scorpius, who had by now risen to his feet and was firing spells across the crowd from his vantage point with the typical Malfoy finesse mentally, chided the younger victims;

If they were listening, instead of screaming, they would have noticed that none of the spells had exceeded a _Stupefy_ in severity. One or two original sods has cast an _Avis _sending a flock of birds about the ceiling and another an _Aguamenti _which had achieved nothing but a damp rug and a few wet robes but those exceptions aside the danger of the situation was nothing if not an exaggeration of their already frayed nerves.

In moments the unmasked students had clustered on one side of the dormitory, the masked on the other, while the figure from the arm chair still stood by his throne casting like the rest and the first years had all but fallen to their keens about the tables.

In the mess Nicholas Catchlove was thrown before him and feeling nothing but advantageous Scorpius cast a more then unnecessary _Incarcerous_ to leave the poor trembling boy bound and helpless by his booted feet.

"Stop!" cried a voice distinctly belonging to the caster of the initial _Expelliarmus_.

The unmasked students stilled, wands primed. The masked looked to their leader who gave an affirmation to the command and stilled also. A small individual, from where they had been waiting at the back of the room, parted the first years and came to present themselves before the masked leader, wand prized;

"You and I," He challenged, "Winner takes all."

"As you wish," came the seething reply from the man seated on the throne before the fire, "Sign your own death warrant and save me the trouble! You piteous creature!"

Nicholas gazed up expectantly, awed like the rest of the deathly quiet first years, in his bondage face first on the dampened rug.

"Rock-Paper-Scissors!" declared the obvious leader of the unmasked students, pocketing his wand much to the horrified expressions of the first years and holding out his closed palm.

The masked leader remained poised, as though he may laugh, and yet let his wand lowered-

"Alright."

He too pocketed his wand.

Nicholas began to stutter uncontrollably as he had at the dinner table and frowns marring the expressions of the first years were off set only by their gaping mouths.

"Rock! Paper! Scissors!" chanted the two ring leaders, hands bouncing.

"Rock!" called the masked.

"Paper!" replied the unmasked.

"Curses! Foiled again!" The masked leader cried falling back into his throne as if mortally wounded.

Turning back to the gathered crowd the unmasked leader threw off his cloak, exposing to the dim light of the room Albus' beaming face.

"The forces of darkness are once again conquered! Rejoice!"

There was a great cry of joy among the unmasked students, hooting and wolf whistling, while the masked contenders clapped the victors respectfully Lucinda Clagg slipping into one of the still standing arm chairs to re-arrange the hair about her face. In the throne, Scorpius pulled off the hood of the cloak and his mask, crossing one knee over the other resting his pointed chin in hand.

"Welcome to Hogwarts" Scorpius omitted calmly and equally as eloquent as when he had delved into his speech on pureblood revolution before their victims with a finality about his tone.

"Th-tha-that wasn't real!" gaped Nicholas, near tears and quaking still, "None of that was real!"

"That's what we call an initiation" Zabini explained, tapping the nose of the bound boy as he knelt beside him, before gesturing to the rest of the co-horde "Those of you who didn't wet your sorry selves should be proud! And no hard feelings kiddies we get to do it all again next year to someone other then you guys! Congratulations!"

The first years seemed unable to move, or breathe, before somewhere amongst them one girl broke into hysterical wailing. So did soon all the rest and sighing Lucinda Clagg with an assortment of prefects and fifth year girls rallied the first years and shuffled the shell shocked lot to bed. They did so with all the head shaking and finger waggling of unimpressed mothers as if chiding the children on the severity of their overreaction.

Scorpius lingered in the arm chair for a moment longer before folding his cloak over his forearm and wandering off into their green and black chambers.

-369-

"The first emperor of China had pearls set in the ceiling of his mausoleum in the shape of all the known constellations," Albus whispered arm extended towards the curtain roofing the four poster frame, fingers splaying out as he drew circles in the air, "Pity he'd only get to see them when he died."

"The architect of the Taj Mahal pleased his client so greatly that he ordered the architect's hands to be severed so he could never draw something so beautiful ever again." Scorpius retorted casually.

Albus let his hands fall from their pattern work and rolled onto his side, hands resting on Scorpius' cotton clad stomach, cheek over his beating heart. Scorpius puffed to dislodge a white-gold strand from his face and strained to recall vague memories of first year when Albus and he had fit much more easily into the now seemingly tiny constraints of the single bed. They coiled round each other like lazy snakes basking in the sun, minds rocking slowly off into sleep, in a progression of increasingly hazy statements. There was something softly wonderful, a normalcy and freedom, in the world concerning their return to Hogwarts. There was etched into the walls, it seemed, an eternal element of sanctuary.

"Scorpius," Albus fidgeted again, rolling onto his back between the blonde's arm and side, "Your wife's not going to like me crashing on your mattress."

"Oh well." He surrendered thoughtlessly, "She'll learn to live with it I should imagine."

"Shouldn't I be the one to learn not to sleep atop you every night? I thought the wife was the one who was supposed to be sharing the quilting rather then the help?"

"The chances of that occurring are a statistical improbability that creates such _unimaginable_ depths of near-impossibility that the exact probability itself would prove so extremely small it would not even be expressible using scientific notation."

"She'll learn to like Arithmancy too I should imagine"

"Well for her sake I very much hope so."

"Night Scorp"

"Good night Al."

Scorpius checked the silencing charm about the drapes and the spread of pile of blankets covering the pair of them. Stretching his legs and wiggling his toes before allowing his head to collapse limply back on the pillows. Their limbs twisted into a series of tight knots through the night, ever so close to creating a painful strain on the muscle, and as the hours began to mount Scorpius' near inaudible snores could be heard while he mouth was pressed into the skin of Albus' forehead.

Below the castle as they were and entrenched in thick windowless stone walls the Slytherin dorms the students of the house had never been privy to the storms that tended to rage about the grounds. Sufficiently sheltered in their darkened den from the turbulent wretched of nature. No rattling window frames, no howling winds, no cold chill seeping down the chimneys, no thunder or lightning, no quivering towers like James reported in the Gryffindor dormitories. However if they had been capable of feeling the effects of the raging torrent of rain, wind and blasting celestial fury assaulting the castle from all sides Albus' probably wouldn't have slept so well.

-369-

The mud was reported to be legendarily thick outside the castle the next morning and Scorpius shuddered involuntarily at the thought of wandering about in the cold and dirt for Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology. Albus sat beside him spreading peanut butter over his toast. He watched between dissecting his eggs as the Potter nibbled away the edges of the slice and then proceeded to lick the spread off before leaving the damp remains on his plate so as to deface his bacon. Nicholas was rubbing the blackened pits under his eyes and blinking in the early morning light blearily across from the aristocrat.

"I'm exhausted," he whined.

"You must be delirious too if you're under the illusion I care."

"Did you fall through a wardrobe last night?" Albus queered, "I hear they lead to uncomfortably cold places with lamp posts."

"I take it he's always this strange then." Nicholas asked ponderous, looking to Scorpius forlornly, "Has he always been this strange?"

"Since the day I met him." Scorpius acknowledged pulling out his Arithmancy text to leaf through the pages as he sipped his tea. "I have Arithmancy first, Al you have Divination, then Defence Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic and Potions before lunch. After lunch we have Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Charms and Transfiguration…"

"Seems like an awful lot of subjects for one day" Nicholas stewed miserably, "I'm never going to last till dinner."

"We can only hope." The blonde marked his page and closed the text book, "Frankly I refuse to go traipsing about the grounds all afternoon with Mr. Longbottom and Professor Hagrid who will no doubt be terribly enthusiastic about the prospect."

"I wonder if the room of Requirement can make a ceiling covered in pearls." Albus murmured gathering up his teacup in both hands and drinking deeply lowering the cup to inspect the tea leaves clumped in disgusting heaps at the bottom, "Oh look I have a Grimm…"

"We'll look into it." Scorpius picked up his toast almost delicately, turning the focus of his attention briefly, "And you'll no doubt have flying with the rest of the first years."

Nicholas became considerably paler and Malfoy took a satisfied bite from his slice.

"Don't hold to tightly to you broom." He warned, "You might stay on. I would also like to forewarn you that individuals have been struck by lightning throughout Wizard history despite what Mr. Binns may tell you to the contrary."

"Really?"

"My Great-Great-Great Grand Uncle Bole 'Bags' Weasley got hit by lightning in 1674." Albus interjected pleasurably.

"That doesn't surprise me," Scorpius took another mouthful from his toast. "Lord knows how many Potters have been lost to the ages in broomstick incidents alone. You're blood line is very accident prone"

"The Peverell Brothers."

"I rest my case."

"So," Nicholas took one deep firm breath inwards, chest heaving, "Is there anything I should know before my first lesson?"

"Don't dawdle on staircases, don't look directly into the eyes of any giant snakes you may encounter, sit next to a Ravenclaw during Potions, don't take up any offers to have lunch under the Whomping Willow." Albus recounted his father's words of wisdom from first year in a sing-song tone. "And try to have 'fun'. Whatever that may be."

"Alright!" Nicholas clapped his hands together in an attempt to aspire some confidence and stood, "I'm off to Astronomy then. Wish me luck!"

"May all your children have boils." Scorpius retorted detachedly, "And may you marry a French woman."

"Close enough."

Scorpius' grey eyes followed the retreating first year pointedly until he vanished into the maze of passages beyond the Great Hall and groaned.

"Albus."

"Yes Scorpius?" The Potter began refilling his teacup, "You're fabulous, kiss you?"

"Later perhaps." He clutched the bridge of his nose, "We should get to class. Professor Trelawney is no doubt dying to interpret your latest string of dreams and Professor Vector will give me the most horridly elaborate equation with imaginary numbers if I'm late again this year."

-369-

Scorpius messaged his temples furiously, emitting a low and continuous groaning at the back of the huddled students, while Professor Hagrid gave another slurring narration about the history of Hippogriffs with all the passion he could muster. His mind picked at the half-giant's speech like a furious vulture. Albus rocked on his heels in the mud, lips tightened into an uncomfortably thin line, hands worrying his upper arms in an attempt to warm himself beside him as another gust of wind swept over the crowd. There was absolutely nothing here that could not be covered in a classroom, a warm, water tight, class room. Scorpius longed to be back in the dimly lit crowded mess of the Potions dudgeon over a warm brew. He grunted distastefully, glaring down towards his now ruined boots, and decide on his next move.

With a roar of pleasantries and unbridled enthusiasm Hagrid dismissed the class suddenly and lopping his arm with Albus' he led them away from the slopping field and up the ridge back towards the school. He scrapped his boots on the paving of the courtyard, stalling only briefly, before continuing his tugging tirade through the castle.

"Herbology?" Albus reminded him as they waited for their staircase to stop shifting.

"No," He grumbled, "It's too bloody cold and I'm in a wretched mood. I'll probably cause Professor Longbottom to burst into tears."

"Where then?"

"The Room of Requirement." He whispered while he urged the Potter higher towards the Seventh floor, "I'll have some Hot Chocolate and we can see about your ceiling."

Green eyes lit up in a candy apple sheen, sweetly, making Albus step a little faster under the wing of the Malfoy. They circled the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy quickly and Scorpius threw the double doors open before they had fully manifested and slammed them behind him just as quickly only moments later. Sinking, anger depleting upon reaching his goal, he fell into the cushion covered floor beside a roaring fire place.

Unhooking his cloak Albus draped it over an armchair before collapsing onto the rug beside Scorpius and closing his eyes counted to ten.

"One, two, three-"

Scorpius let his own eyes fall shut as his fingers worked away at the elaborate business of freeing his hair from its braided confines. He rested his forearm over his eyes and listened to Albus' drawling voice.

"-eight, nine, ten…"

Albus made a glorious sound somewhere between a hiss and a swoon forcing the Malfoy to draw his attention skywards and behold.

Shining white baubles gazed down like unblinking eyes, embedded amongst dark blue tiles comprising the night sky, some with the same pinkish tinge they shone with when strung up for his Grandmother's necklaces or grey like his own eyes. Much lovelier then his unimaginative mind had expected.

He would make sure to buy Albus pearls for Christmas.

* * *

(1) "What's the Use of Wondering" by Amanda Palmer

I'd love to hear you're theories on:  
* Why "Ruby Slippers"? Though truth be told this shouldn't be apparent for a while  
* What exactly is 'wrong' with Albus?  
* And whatever else pops into those pretty little minds~

Chapter 2 will be up before soon, it'll be about the same length too, so I hope to keep any of you who may be waiting in good graces with a considerably sized follow up.

Don't take life too seriously until then but _do_ take your time falling into wardrobes. 


	2. Chapter 2

_**Ruby Slippers~**_

A/N: back for your viewing pleasure! After, hopefully, not too long.

* * *

Chapter 2: "Crossing Wires"

The next two weeks worked terribly hard to improve Scorpius' mood. The rain lifted briefly, after the three night storm which terrorized the school from first day onwards subsided, and the mud was replaced with a lush covering of grass that proved satisfactorily comfortable for Slytherin midnight picnics, next to the lake, by the second Thursday of term. Albus' sleepwalking started once again, the muttering and the twitching close behind, but he'd yet to make it up the stairs and out of the dormitory. Finally, and most amusingly, Nicholas' fourth flying lesson had ended in a tree with a fractured leg.

Monday of his third week back at school saw Scorpius with a letter from his Grandmother which included, as per his subtly suggested request, a string of pearls for his '_blushing sweetheart whoever she may be_'(1) which found themselves in Albus' trunk during the day for safekeeping and in his hands during the night for appreciation.

Then came the first Quidditch match of the year: Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw.

The Friday night before Scorpius took it upon himself to ensure that he was not disgraced by their first year.

"Disgraced?" Nicholas frowned, heart shaped face scrunching up in a grimace, "what do you mean disgraced?"

"You've been following us around since the start of the year." Scorpius explained, sitting crossed legged and poised on the end of his bed, "as such people have come to identify you with me because of that I feel it's necessary you know how to compose yourself in public, so as to not bring the wrath of social ridicule and embarrassment upon us."

"You're really serious about this aren't you?"

"Deathly," Albus answered sprawled on his side between Scorpius' lap and the wooden bed end, rolling the pearls about in his ivory fingers.

"I'm a Malfoy, these things are important to me."

"Once, in third year, I snuck some firewhisky from the Three Broomsticks cause Angus Dorkins and I had this running dare," Zabini laughed gesticulating wildly on his own bed, while Geoffrey Bulstrode watched with an enormous smirk from his _Magic Music_ magazine beside him. "And I got so smashed I fell into the lake, got a squid hickey, and woke up completely hairless. Scorpius didn't talk to me for a month by which point my eyebrows were growing back."

"Sadly that's not the stupidest thing you've ever done," Scorpius snapped trying to shepherd the conversation back to its original purpose. "The point is: we cheer when Ravenclaw scores, only when, we don't drink, we don't make lewd comments, we don't make puritanical comments, we don't involve ourselves in pranks or general rule breaking and we certainly don't forget to smile if Gryffindor should happen to lose."

"So basically I can't make an ass of myself?"

"Basically."

Nicholas tapped his knee thoughtfully.

"And if I behave, then what?"

"I won't suffocate you in your sleep." Scorpius shrugged. "At least not for another two years."

"Can I come on one of the midnight picnics?"

"No. That's only for fourth years onwards."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll tell James Potter about initiation night."

"You're a little bastard," Scorpius hissed vehemently while Zabini and Bulstrode broke into hysterics.

"Mate that is the most Slytherin thing you've ever said," Zabini placed his hand over his heart, "makes me teary to think you little runts go up so fast…Three weeks and you're already blackmailing your superiors…It just makes me so…proud"

"What will you bring to the Picnic?" Albus turned over onto his stomach, placing his head in his palm so he could properly converse with Nicholas over the bed end, pearls still rolling in his other hand.

"I don't know. What could I bring?"

"Lemon drops," the Potter retorted, "bring Lemon Drops and you can come to the picnic."

"Displaceable little creature you're turning into Catchlove." Scorpius let himself tumble backwards with a monstrous groan. "If it wasn't such a becoming quality I'd throttle you this very moment."

"With my tie?"

"Too low brow." The blonde chastised, "_Hufflepuffs_ on their period strangle people with ties. Slytherins must think more creatively."

"Not using my pearls," Albus assured him possessively.

"No fear, I wouldn't dream of it."

"Why do you have pearls?" Geoffrey frowned, once again drawn away from his two page spread on self-playing guitars with a scantily clad Arthur and the Knights poster stuck down the centerfold.

"To remind me of Emperor Qin," the Potter brought the chain closer to his face at the acknowledgement. "Scorpius gave them to me."

"Sometimes," Zabini stated in a clear official monotone, gesturing to Scorpius and Albus, while maintaining steady eye contact with Nicholas, "It's better not to ask Albus Potter questions because we find ourselves in situations like this where it simply creates _more _questions. The moral of the story is my boy; you will never ever figure it out. Never ever. The sooner you stop trying the less damaging to the integrity of your psyche it will be when Albus finally throws off his mortal guise and starts talking in tongues."

Scorpius recalled very vividly Albus' German mutterings on the train but would never utter such things in a public forum. The houses knew that Albus was strange and it would have been impossible for Scorpius or Al himself to hide the fact. Slytherin students knew that Albus was not like the other Potters and nothing could have made that clearer then his position in their house to begin with. Over the years they'd also caught wind of Albus' trips to Saint Mungo's but by then Scorpius was no longer concerned about that knowledge circulating.

By second year Scorpius had stopped worrying about fitting in amongst the Slytherins and he had long since stopped worrying about Albus being harassed. Together they made a name for themselves. What Scorpius lacked in imagination Albus made up for ten fold and what Albus understandably lacked in foresight and practical organization skills Scorpius made short work of. Together they thought up and executed fantastically grand schemes which had won the immediate praise of their house mates and ultimately acceptance. The sixth year students who had turned their nose up at Albus when he was eleven were questioning him avidly about the next midnight picnic by the time he was twelve.

Now in their fifth year Slytherin could care less about the spiraling sanity of Albus Potter or the cynical apathy of Scorpius Malfoy so long as the pair continued to be as they had always been. It had been strange to be accepted, yet more so wanted, at first. From the moment Scorpius acquired it he felt no desire for it. He and Albus planned and practiced their activities because they enjoyed them.

-369-

In the Quidditch pitch Scorpius found himself questioning the pros and cons of school based versus international Quidditch from the perspective of an observer. He enjoyed professional Quidditch but he felt much more disconnected from the outcome than he did with Hogwarts Quidditch. Then again the box his family had reserved for international games was much nicer than the stands surrounding the school pitch. Shrugging off the theories he tried to focus on the game play. James and Hugo were rocketing across the pitch, bats in hand, and Scorpius scorned the Captain for making them beaters in the first place.

Hugo always seemed as though his role as Beater wasn't to divert the Bludgers but take their fury himself and the number of times he had thrown his small lanky body between himself and the mass of iron propelling towards another teammate was enormous. It was admirable yes, it had won them points yes, but the sheer stupidity of the tactic was overwhelming. Scorpius supposed however he didn't have very many brain cells left to lose at this point so he may as well continue. James on the other hand was smarter with a bat. His aim for not only hitting but directing the Bludgers towards opposing teammates was legendary. He seemed to have a penchant especially for aiming his blows towards the opposing team's Keeper, to thrown their focus away from the Quaffle and on their impending broken skull instead.

He anticipated their first match of the season. Slytherin would match off against Hufflepuff in a week and Scorpius was confident they would thrash the opposition. It was their first match against Gryffindor he was dreading. As Keeper he had learnt a long time ago that with James behind the Beaters bat he would get no rest during a match and light and keen as he was Albus was still a hittable target as Seeker. James believed in giving a game his complete effort, his best shot, and he was not going to give his baby brother special treatment. As he had exclaimed to Scorpius post one particular game: he endeavored to treat Albus just like any other player out of fairness. The Malfoy tended to believe him, after all, James was too small minded to be malicious on purpose.

As a Ravenclaw Chaser came off their broom from the impact of one of the Bludgers Scorpius cringed.

-369-

Showered and dressed Scorpius sat on the cusp of his mattress and watched Albus check the picnic basket. If there was one thing a Weasley could do well after all it was plan a picnic. He popped a Lemon Drop in his mouth while he worked, as he always did, and Scorpius knew it would rest there on his tongue virtually untouched until they reached their destination upon which immediately after seating Albus would swallow. It was an acknowledgement to Scorpius' brain that they were ready to leave and pulling down the cuffs of his jumper once more he followed the ivory skinned Potter out into the common room.

There was a group of about thirty tonight, all armed with their wands and all carrying various bundles of food between them, in anticipation of one of the newest but most ironic of Slytherin traditions.

Nicholas stood sheepishly between Bulstrode and Zabini terribly short amongst the older students. Scorpius found himself smirking. It served the boy right for stepping outside his threshold so recklessly and putting himself in such situations especially considering if he was the one to have them caught he would bear stupendous wrath from his house mates.

Albus led the procession through the darkened halls of the school because like the Snitch, lost socks and approaching weather patterns the dark haired boy always seemed to know exactly where something or someone was going to be and when they were going to be there. As per the norm the group made it unchallenged over the ridge surrounding the Castle and down into the grassy fields of the grounds.

In a spot of considerable distance from the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's shack they settled several meters away from a moonlit view of the lake on their blankets. The Midnight Picnic was something the older students reserved for weekends on most occasions, like tonight, and proved itself to be a paradox. During the day the students would have been perfectly capable of holding the same picnic, in the same spot, legitimately whereas under the stars, as it always was, they could set themselves up for weeks of detention. Then again that was the nature of Slytherin: to do the wrong thing was not exclusive to any house but to remain unnoticed and unpunished despite all else was Slytherin at it's finest.

Lying into the woolen blanket, another creation from the obsessive Grandma Molly Weasley, and breathing in the cold moist grass scented air Scorpius felt almost completely at peace. Albus settled beside him, gulping the last of Lemon drop on his tongue, hair splayed about him and pressed his cold nose into Scorpius' neck. Shoulder under the hollow of Albus' neck he wrapped the remainder of his arm round the pointy tiny shoulders casually.

Nicholas unceremoniously plopped himself beside them on the edge of the blanket and Scorpius slapped the boy's thigh venomously. The boy cried out, shushed by thirty or so other students crowded about on their own blankets, and clutched his bruised thigh in freckled fingers.

"We announce ourselves in Pureblood society," Scorpius tsked, feeling the string of pearls wrapped round Albus' neck lethargically, "it's a matter of etiquette, like I have been trying to beat into your head since you arrived but which you seem to have no retention for."

Nicholas groaned.

"Shush." Scorpius snapped his fingers, and extended his palm "Lemon drops?"

-3-6-9-

The windows of Riddle Manor cracked simultaneous throughout the Manor, on all floors and in all rooms, suddenly and without warning. The glass itself did not shatter but every pane was covered in scratch like marks on the brink of falling from their settings in pieces. The fires died in each and every room at precisely the same time as the windows. In one quick whoosh of wind and dying smoke and in the Library those reading put down their books cautiously and waited. Likewise in this strange procession of events the clocks stopped at approximately 3.15 that afternoon in perfect sync with the windows and the fireplaces. A perfect coordination of oddities. The combination of all these tiny but undeniable acts occurring at once had such a profound effect that silence descended immediately and did not end for another three hours while those inside the building waited for the dark aura, spreading into the very earth itself, to subside. However those three hours were anything but silent, in total, though it should be revealed that the sounds filling the house for those three hours included only two voices. The voices originated from the western corner of the third floor as Nagini lay about the sealed threshold twisting over herself endlessly as if distraught.

"You were entertaining an Order loyalist in my house!"

"While you were about with your whores!"

"They're potential providers! Sorting through them is a task which must be preformed for the sake of the empire!" Voldemort's dark voice boomed distinctly through the floorboards. "I've yet to lay a hand on any of them, however intent you seem to be on calling me a liar, and even if I had you still ought lick my boots! I am the master of this house! Of this entire country! I provide the roof over your head and everything under it!"

"And I am master over you!"

"Don't think yourself so lucky!"

"Without me you'd still be devouring Unicorns outside Dumbledore's fortress!"

"I should have let you rot among the Muggles!"

"I wish you had!" The melodious and hysterical scream sent the drapes into a flurry and without further instruction the curtains began to shred themselves. As the screech of tearing fabric died so did the yelling.

Outside the room Nagini stilled and the shouts were replaced with a batch of frantic hisses, deep and sharp, yet still leaving both voices distinctly identifiably different. The dark magic constricting the house slowly began its decline into oblivion and without warning the fires flared back into life.

It was herald to normalcy restored and releasing his vice like grip on the armrests of his chair Draco let his perfect pureblood posture fall limp.

"Merlin above," He groaned anxiously, the Malfoy had never quiet been the same after the fiasco of sixth year, "I swear they're getting worse, I mean of course…well they've always fought like bloody scorpions but now its darn near ridiculous…every day almost…I don't know if I can take much more of this, nerves and all…really Severus there must be something you can do about it? His Lordship might listen to you!"

"I refuse to stick my neck out in all this." The potions master declared passing his charge a cup of the freshly brewed tea. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can well handle his own affairs. He has overseen this particular…_aspect_ for thirty-one years without my help or approval more often than not. The Lords will sort out their own particulars Draco, the most you and I can do is try and stay out of their way."

Within the sealed chambers of the Dark Lord the hissing still continued soft and insistent.

-3-6-9-

The cluster of students fell into a rambling babble as the night wore on and midnight fast approaching they prepared to return to the dungeons. Scorpius stared heavenwards to the stars and sprawled over him Albus had long since departed to the land of nod. Picnic basket emptied Nicholas watched the over groups collecting their things.

"Shouldn't we wake Al up?"

"We return to the dungeons in small groups. Easier to sneak back in, the portraits don't notice so much, but this late at night Mrs. Norris is on the prowl," the blonde whispered. "You go back with Zabini and Bulstrode first. I'll wake Albus up in a little while and we'll come back then. We usually go last."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather I wait with you?"

"I'm hardly afraid of the dark," Scorpius scoffed distastefully, "but your concern is noted. Now go on."

"Alright, alright," Nicholas sighed patting off his knees and backside. He stood and without another word wandered off through the thick wet grass in the direction of Zabini's recognizable drawl.

The trio dismissed themselves first, practically crawling up the ridge, to slip back into the courtyard under cover of the shadows cast by the towers and battlements. Gathering themselves in the same organized fashion they did every weekend the other students began to leave too. They paced their return trips with ten minute intervals and as the second duo disembarked Scorpius let his eyes flutter closed, resting he reasoned, while he awaited his turn.

By the fourth group he had lulled off into sleep on the woolen blanket amongst the grass, undisturbed by the cold under Albus' warm body, lost in a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

The sixth group left, then the seventh, then the eighth…

The final pair lingered, casting hesitant glances back towards where Albus and Scorpius were curled under the moonlight.

"Should we check on them?" the girl pined.

"Don't be stupid," the boy grunted brightly, "they're fine. We need to get back to the common room. It's our turn."

"But they look like-"

"Malfoy's not the type to just fall asleep!" The boy hissed, "He's just waiting his turn, stop being such a worry-wart."

"Shouldn't we check? I mean if they stay out here all night-"

"They're not going to," he insisted tugging at her sleeve, trying to lead the girl back up the ridge, "Scorpius'll be pissed if you go bug him, leave the poor sod be, he doesn't need you to mother him."

"Oh fine." She surrendered. "Now stop walking so fast! I'm going! I'm going!"

Ten minutes elapsed, then twenty, then thirty…

Albus murmured quietly in his sleep and rolled away from Scorpius. Pressing his hands into the ground he pushed himself up and resting on his elbows paused. A moment passed before he pushed himself up further, sitting cross legged on the blanket, and finally, eyes closed, he stood. The slope of their picnic sight caused the unconsciously animated form to stumble slightly. Regaining his footing he turned away from the lake. Eyes opened a fraction into slits light, green, empty and trance like. He strolled gracefully away from Scorpius' sleeping body, grass licking at his ankles, taking relaxed and gauged steps away from the school.

Scorpius tossed soon after, the resulting temperature drop from the loss of his companion assaulting his nerves, and groaning he lurched forward on the blanket. There was a sudden, subconscious, wrongness in the world he sensed. His head spun leaving him cold and nauseas. He held his face in his hands to gather himself, rubbing his ivory face firmly and looking about the softly lit world. Water reflected off the lake, still enough for him to see his reflection, on and atop the hill lights still flickered within Hogwarts but Albus was no where to be seen.

He stood tall, abandoning the blanket and basket without a care, and bounded up the ridge into the fields surrounding the school. Pulling his jacket closer about his shoulders grey eyes scanned the horizon.

"Albus?" He hissed frantically, "Albus where are you?"

Eyes trailed over his shoulder back to the lake, up towards the school, out towards Hagrid's softly smoking hut and the rim of the Forbidden Forest. Cursing his mind stewed the hopelessly horrid possibilities of where and what may have become of his only friend while he dozed. He swore to himself bitterly, practically twirling in place as he tried to spot the Potter boy. Scorpius walked quickly across the grounds traipsing further into the openness of the field, grass tumbling in the breeze, and searched. Images of Albus drowned, eaten or trapped flooded over his mind frantically and the other boy's name fell from his mouth over and over again amidst a sea of swears.

The clock tower behind him chimed and surprised by its thunderous boom in the darkness he stumbled over his own feet. Insistent he pulled himself up and trudged further out towards Hogsmeade. He refused to believe for that moment that Albus was in the forest or, Merlin forbid, the lake and so he moved further and further from the school grounds.

Over one of the smaller mounds littering the field he caught a glimpse of a figure ahead of him. Picking up his feet and tugging up the ends of his robes in his fists he ran. Scorpius was not one for running, or getting dirty mind you, it was simply against his nature. After all, no one could really look graceful while hurdling themselves across an empty field but for a few brief moments in the course of his life he was happy to compromise all his standards.

Throwing himself forward he tackled the slight form into the ground underneath him, straddling the tiny body he panted and tried vainly to bat away the white-gold locks hanging limply about his face.

"_Albus Severus Potter_!" He whispered furiously hands falling either side of the black tresses, "You gave me a heart attack! Are you mad!"

Ignoring the paradox of his statement, for if anyone was mad it was surly Albus, he gazed down into the doe-eyed face perplexedly. His features were uncharacteristically blank and sighing to himself Scorpius realized that smaller boy was still lost somewhere inside his mind, a dream world, while his body moved about by itself.

"I truly do dislike sleep walking" he grumbled, hooking his arm under Albus' neck beneath his shoulders, he pulled the boy upwards till they were face to face. Patting his cheek demurely Scorpius whispered to him in a firm but calm voice. "Wake up Al. We have to go back. _Wake up_."

Within another moment or so Albus came around, blinking dazedly, life returning to his evergreen eyes in a flash of brilliance.

"Where'd I get this time?" he mumbled. Albus threw his head back over Scorpius' arm, hair falling backwards, as he stared at the field before them upside down. Tsking contentedly Scorpius lowered his arm and lay Albus on the ground once more so the other boy could roll onto his stomach, still between the aristocrat's legs, and gain a better view without straining the muscles of his delicate neck with all its obvious tendons.

"Half way to the Shrieking Shack it would appear." Scorpius could still hear his heart pounding in his chest fluttering like a snitch trying to escape its ribbed confines.

Albus looked back, twisting half on his side under Scorpius, perfectly at peace. The serene expression on his pale face gave way to a tiny smile.

"Did you decide to come for a stroll with me then?"

"It's a detailed and embarrassing story," Scorpius sighed, "needless to say our things are still back at the lake side."

Albus laughed and hoisted himself up, bringing his torso closer, Scorpius caught the candy green eyes bemusedly counting for the six hundredth time the sparse freckles on Albus' cheekbones. There was some level on understanding, appreciation, in the gaze and leaning forward to cover the last of the inches between them Albus' kissed his cheek in a single uninhibited and incredibly brief gesture. Twisting his neck as the Potter withdrew he returned the motion onto one particular freckle he'd observed since first year. Albus let himself lay back onto the down bed of grass as Scorpius' mind caught itself.

It was a rare occasion Scorpius ever questioned what he did, or examined for that matter, how exactly he felt. In his mind he did not feel very much but for Albus there had always been a comfortable affection. He felt, it seemed, safe with the baby boy Potter in the sense that he trusted Albus enough to be relaxed in his presence. They had always been secure enough to brush up against each other and lay about one another without any awkwardness. It was not that Scorpius failed to put stock in the power or significance of those affectionate motions but simply that he never thought about them. Like water off a duck's back he'd heard rumors about himself and while he had never dismissed any back talk, insult or implication he simply had never allowed them to affect him. It was if he heard without every really hearing anything around him. None of it stuck.

Looking down at Albus stretched beneath him he thought, for a second, he felt something peculiar, not unlike what he always felt with Albus, but that now acknowledged something flailed recognition. Shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders with a ponderous sigh he did what he often did in these rare situations: he stopped thinking about it. Everything in his life was content. There was a normalcy and a secured, planned, future.

He had no reason to over analyze so he would refrain from doing so.

Albus seemed undisturbed by any of his pondering. Stretching the Potter took a deep intake of breath before settling once more.

"We should go back." Scorpius decided.

"The Shrieking Shack?" Albus queered hopefully. "We're almost there already, why not drop by?"

"If it will satisfy your curiosity."

"Perhaps," Albus shrugged, "I don't know yet."

Scorpius stood fluidly reaching down to help draw Albus up onto his feet likewise. As they crossed the remainder of the field there was an air of confidence in Albus' stride, he appeared almost carefree. He'd disclosed before that life with his Weasley relatives usually meant a great deal of gallivanting about in the country side and while Albus wasn't much the type for anything incredibly or extraordinarily rough physically he'd gotten accustomed to chasing after James' coat tails when they were small. At the Burrow it was apparently not uncommon for them to spend hours walking about the middle of nowhere. Scorpius could have gathered most of this information himself from the few visits he'd staged to stay with Albus during the holidays. Hence while he struggled to assure his footing the Potter moved over the rabbit holes and needless obstacles effortlessly.

The Shrieking Shack filling their vision as they approached Scorpius felt not the least bit uncomfortable. Albus' confidence was infectious, admittedly the shambling mess of a building did look more imposing in the moonlight but he refused to be spooked by fairy tales he knew to be false.

The shack creaked in the darkness and slipping over the threshold neither of them made move to create illumination. It was ridiculously stupid Scorpius knew but he felt somehow it was not appropriate. It occurred to him that if this was the place from Albus' dream then he would want to see it in the same condition he had seen it in his mind's eye. Why he would assume Albus' dream had some real significance he wasn't entirely sure, it didn't matter if it was or wasn't, but if finding out helped them sleep at night he was happy to oblige.

Albus moved through the black crumbling rooms critically. He whined in the back of his throat, shoulders dropping, as he passed over one side of the room to the other. Fingers wandered over the dust soaked carcasses of once charming furniture and up the frail staircase precariously.

Scorpius waited.

He could hear Albus' nimble feet on the floorboards overhead, fingers strumming the side of his thigh not impatiently, and he glanced about the Shack unsure entirely what exactly he was meant to be looking for. Old world trinkets, pictures, still littered the rubble completely untouched and Scorpius stewed that this damnable place was so meaningless and forgotten that however many incredible sights it had seen it was not even worth pillaging to the figures who encountered it.

He perceived Albus making his way back down the stair case, hand never reaching to grasp the brittle banister as he returned to sight. The dark haired teen moved towards him without another word and sighed miserably.

"This isn't the place then I suppose?"

"No." He pouted, bottom lip jutting out, "This is Tutankhamun's tomb not the Taj Mahal."

"You're sure?"

Albus nodded weakly.

-369-

"I dreamt again," the Potter whispered as they sat thigh to thigh at the breakfast table Monday morning.

Scorpius swallowed the clump of bacon in his throat and reached for his tea. Leaning back against the wall he nursed the cup.

"Did you see your mirror again?"

"No," Albus explained somewhat reluctantly. "I saw the Catacombs."

"Literally or figuratively speaking?"

"The mirror's the Taj Mahal, the Shack Tut's tomb, and this was place was the Catacombs." He answered, "I think beyond the mirror is Qin's mausoleum pearl ceilings and all."

"And what happened in these Catacombs?"

"It was dark," Albus leant into the wall, mimicking Scorpius, "yet not dusty, rather wet instead. There were rounded tunnels and a great open space with black water. It smelt like blood and I saw a great face staring back at me while I stood amongst a mound of enormous bones."

The Malfoy sipped his tea cautiously.

"We should be getting to class." He drew his bag to himself, throwing it over his shoulder, taking a final swig from his tea he placed it back onto the table amongst the rest of the displaced and dirty cutlery. "We have Potions first."

Fine fingered hands fell into his lap and for the first time in weeks, years almost, Albus' appeared unabashedly despairing. He turned his eyes up to his half risen companion and Scorpius froze. Bothered by the immensity of it, he returned his book bag to its place on the seat beside him, and sat once more.

"What's wrong Al?"

"If I don't do something they'll really put me away." The pearls were retrieved from his pocket and he rolled them over his knuckles as Scorpius had often seen his own father play with his stress balls. "I know I'm not the same as James but I keep thinking there's a reason…I think the mirror can help…I need to find it Scorpius. _It's real_. I just know it is. It has to be."

"We'll find it then." He muttered decidedly, uncomfortable with promise, he didn't like this.

"Do you think I'm crazy Scorp?"

"No," Scorpius gnawed his bottom lip considerately. "I don't think you're normal but I certainly don't think you're crazy either. I wouldn't care if you were anyway."

The terrible wave of sadness vanished as quickly and as violently as it had come about and the pit of ice mounting in Scorpius' stomach waned as Albus' moment of complete clarity dissipated and he returned to his hopelessly smiling self. He looped his arm in Scorpius' and allowed himself to be escorted to Potions as he did every morning.

-369-

Potions was usually a ludicrous affair, like cooking really, and they had fallen into a languid routine that more often than not worked the tension lacing Scorpius spine free. Scorpius would manage, elaborately organized as always, his books perfectly straight on the desk, and Albus would watch the brew itself. Like most things Albus had intuition for it and Scorpius found it equally as soothing when they could both laze about watching it take shape.

Rose Weasley sat across the way from them normally, prancing and panicking like most Ravenclaws' did over every little thing, dictating notes to the poor scrambling girl beside her while Scorpius watched amusedly. However for now she appeared uncharacteristically quiet and reversed at her bench. Halfway through the lesson she took it upon herself to scoop up some mushrooms and quietly walk towards them.

"Can we help you?" He droned.

"I just wanted to say hello," she mumbled politely. "I wanted to see if you're doing any better Al?"

"I have Scorpius, why wouldn't I be Rosie?" He brushed her away artificially innocent. He kept his attention lovingly primed on the softly bubbling pot as dazed and as dreamy as was common but yet there was always something less welcoming about him when he spoke to his family.

"You're sure? Over the holiday you definitely didn't look well, I just worry about you is all. Lord knows strenuous exercise like Quidditch can't be helpful…" She appeared charged to fumble pointlessly into a lecture.

"If you think he's going to quit the team so Ravenclaw can win a match this season you're out of your mind," he deadpanned.

"I-Oh blast it Scorpius this isn't about the tournament!" The girl huffed, "I'm just trying to be considerate."

"Is it like trying to be German?" Albus quirked suddenly, "I really rather feel lately I'd like to learn some…"

"I think you already know some." Scorpius hinted, "at least when you're asleep."

"I can do a lot of things while I'm asleep though," the Potter agreed, as they gently weaved the trail away from her rudely began discussion towards their own like Slytherins were want to do, "I bet I could sing and dance in my sleep at this rate. Walking and talking are just the beginning."

"I'm sure you can sing perfectly well awake," the blonde shrugged, "you sounded rather lovely at Grandmother's Christmas ball."

"Yes but your Grandmother can make people sing," Albus smiled. "She can make furniture sing, grown men or candlesticks. I bet she could even make snakes sing."

"It's no wonder she likes you with thoughts like that."

"I bet you could make candlesticks sing if you smiled more."

"I'll have to try sometime then."

"This really is rather ridiculous," Rose groaned weakly, falling to the empty seat, "It's no wonder you never get any better when illogical conversations like this run rampant."

"_Darling,_" Scorpius extended his hand, cupping hers and speaking very carefully, carrying his syllables as his mother always taught him to annunciation and so on. "Just because you don't understand it doesn't make it nonsensical. Ravenclaws don't very well understand much."

"How dare you!" She seemed taken back at his bluntness. "I didn't see your name on the list of top students for last year Mr. Malfoy, or the year before for that matter-"

"Now _that_ is nonsense." He affirmed confidently and apathetically. "Marks my friend are nothing but dribble you attach unnecessary importance to. I don't care how well you went in Transfiguration or Herbology. There will come a time in your life where marks won't get you by anymore and however well you can memorize information does_ not_ make you intelligent, well rounded, or even a delightful person. Your marks have not helped your manners."

"Nor yours apparently."

"At least I'm comfortable to admit such."

"I just wanted to say hello, must you attack me every time we speak?"

"It's only an attack if you don't like what you hear." Scorpius shrugged, "and should you continue to be so unendingly rude you'll never like anything I say to you."

"What on earth is rude about enquiring after the welfare of my cousin?"

"Your tone, your mothering, and your assumption that you know best or perhaps that Albus is incapable of looking after himself. He's not an invalid. He has more than your marks will get you."

"Scorpius honestly," She buried her face in her hands and he remembered instantly why he liked these discussions with her. "Must you be so protective? Perhaps if you'd listen to reason once and a while-"

"Scorpius listens to me." Albus interjected eyes still rolling intensely over the calm surface of the brew. "Scorpius listens to everything. That's why he's so smart and why his heart works the right way because he gets it."

"Through the art of listening?" He inquired curiously. "I never thought of that as my main skill."

"Albus you know everyone at home tries their very best-"

"_Sitting on a shelf he is just a toy, but I turn him on and he comes to life, automatic joy, that is why I want a… _"(3)

"Albus!" Rose's face, turning a bitter shade of vermillion, became disturbed. "If you want me to leave then you really ought to say so. You can't just turn away from all your problems like you don't see them."

"This is getting far too psycho-analytical." Scorpius gestured his hand dismissively. "I think _you_ ought to go save your bench mate from your quickly deteriorating potion. Miss Flex looks quiet flustered."

Albus sat, finally, once the girl dissipated and swung his legs under the table.

"I don't much enjoy the company of women," the Malfoy realized, "we really must make sure whatever poor creature I marry can't stand to be in the same room as me or else I'll never be able to enjoy my future."

-369-

Scorpius should've known something was wrong when the rest of Potions, History of Magic and Charms passed quickly and without another disturbance. He should've know, should've suspected, being a pessimistic Malfoy male that karma or the universe itself had something dastardly in mind. Still he had the indecency to hope, in an entirely unbefitting manner, that perhaps the rest of their day would be pleasant.

Feeling oddly closer to his father suddenly he cursed Harry Potter with the fire of a thousand suns.

The blonde boy had never much cared for Charms, Astronomy or Transfiguration but Defense Against the Dark Arts had for some time been up there with Arithmancy, Potions and History of Magic in his favorable subjects. Albus stared as lovingly over the werewolf, basilisk and boggart illustrations as he did the Malfoy Death Eater robes for another thing. Professor Radulf however saggy faced and badly dressed was not as poor an excuse of a teacher as his footwear would suggest either.

Then there was the rub, of course, the charismatic Harry Potter and his charitable spirit. Harry Potter: the only grown man, in the upper authority of the Auror department, who would willingly take time from his day to give lectures for a bunch of sniveling fifth years at Hogwarts.

So this was why his family hated good hearted pacifists so much.

Leading the way into DADA with Albus on his arm, not clinging nor stumbling like he used to but assured in the maneuver after five years of practice being tugged around as you only saw in those horrid Muggle documentaries now-a-days, he spotted the dashing devil leaning on the desk at the front of the room. Scorpius said a few very choice words under his breath, offering a gaggle of girls up the back their front row seats for the day so they could coo and giggle at point blank range from the Boy-Who-Lived. He sat Albus down while they jumped about-

"Oh Malfoy are you sure?" Prudence Benedict asked delightedly.

"Yes, it's not like Albus and I haven't seen Mr. Potter before." He waved her off taking the second chair and seating himself. He picked up the stack of books and texts they'd already put down before his arrival and handed them up to the girls. "You really ought to go before someone else takes our spot."

Nodding, flushed and deliriously happy they bounded away, chairs up the front of the room scrapping painfully against the stone flooring as they wrenched them out and plopped down. Beside him Albus buried his face in the table.

"I would bet my inheritance Rose knew," Scorpius grumbled placing their books about. "Probably wants to drop your father a quick word about your need of better care. Silly idealistic girl, she's no Severus Snape when it comes to the art of double handed spying, I swear I'll hex her for this."

"Why don't they ever invite any Death Eaters to give speeches?" Albus wondered aloud, face still pressed against the wood, "that would be terribly interesting."

"Yes well, most of them are in Azkaban, I know: Grandfather writes to them."

"Well they should ask your Grandfather then." Albus un-corked his ink bottle precariously with one hand, "I do love his war stories."

"Yes but then the Prophet would slander us: _one-sided pro Dark Lord Theology being taught to impressionable youths at Hogwarts by a 'reformed' Death Eater_" Scorpius spread his hand across the air, as the article came to sight in his head, "or something very much like that."

"Well just hearing Order members is very one sided too."

"Yes well, everyone thinks they were right."

"Only because they won the war." Albus pointed out. "If Voldemort had won the war everyone would think he was right. _History is written by the winners_."

"I really have to stop leaving you alone with Grandfather during the Summer Ball." He checked his hair tie carefully, making sure the great tangling mess of strands was contained well enough for him to cast whatever hexes he'd need to cast at Rose Weasley later, "besides, if the Dark Lord had won you wouldn't exist."

"Well then I'd be ridiculously bored I imagine." He pulled his face away from the grain finally and blinked, rubbing the dust particles from his eyes with the back of his hand. "And what's the use of creating all that excitement if I'm not even around to watch?"

"When I conquer the world you can watch," Scorpius assured him, "and all the spoils from the Lemon Drop mines will be delivered to our residence."

"Deliciously diabolical."

"Alright everybody," Harry Potter called from beside the board, pushing off the desk and standing his full height, appearing awfully impressive before he paused to readjust the glasses teetering on the edge of his nose. "Now Professor Radulf tells me you've been learning about Dementors."

"Oh Voldemort's Knickers." Albus cursed. "Hear we go…"

Mr. Potter spoke as animatedly about Dementors and all other manner of terrible things as Albus did, their tones on the matter simply differed. Scorpius found it ultimately difficult to dislike the Savior in any capacity. Mister Potter had always been intelligent, polite, and very welcoming in his home and in public. He was a tall well figured man, still as undeniably bony as Scorpius' father often accused him of being, but he had aged gracefully if such a thing was possible. He carried himself well and like James it was impossible to doubt his good intentions.

There would always be the niggling doubt and the hatred though. Scorpius could not deny the resentment he felt towards the man who might willingly let his wife put his second son away in Mungo's forever. Surly Mister Potter out of the list of anyone who might listen to Albus should've understood and yet he never would. For that Scorpius could never let himself truly be happy at the sight of his face but he'd certainly send Mister Potter a postcard when he and Albus moved to the Manor in France.

"Well it could be worse." Scorpius spoke reflexively. "We could be at your Grandmother's."

"A fate worse than death" Albus whispered, "Or we could be at Aunt Hermione's."

"That woman frightens me." He shuddered, "all that Dentistry in her veins."

"Purebloods never did like dentists did they?"

"Shush you."

Albus laughed gaily and began scribbling over his parchment with his tight, uncomfortably curved, script dribbling the sketches down the roll while Scorpius' flowing script dictated Mister Potter as professionally as was possible. Mister Potter had a way of speaking, often with his hands, like James and Albus he had a way of replacing descriptive terms in his speech with sound. It was a kind of onomatopoeia which was in a sense theatrical and yet strangely decipherable to the human mind. It caused no end of giggles in the front row but Scorpius couldn't for the life of him think how to translate half of it to paper.

"Aunt Hermione hates it when he does that too." The smallest Potter boy murmured "tries to take notes on things for her book and she gets very flustered. Too much for her brain's dictionary to process sometimes"

"Your dictionaries are abstract, vague, concepts of…well they're not really words but the concept of the word…one really must strain at first when trying to learn Potternese."

"Did you?"

"I thought my headache would never go away and for a while I considered it to be some sort of hereditary speech impediment."

"Malfoys all speak with such eloquence."

"That's because we never really say what we mean," Scorpius pointed out. "A lie is very easy to express in proper English… You're rather talkative this morning."

"Yes, I'm quite confused by it myself." Albus face fell slightly. "I don't feel like myself I suppose. Not a nice morning, especially not with Rose and now Dad."

"I'm afraid I don't have any Lemon Drops to remedy the situation."

"Hold my hand then?" The other boy suggested.

Scorpius snorted weakly and laced his fingers with Albus' limp hand under the table. It wasn't the most elegant thing in the world, he admitted, but it was a quaint thing which he longed to deduce. Malfoys didn't hold hands, Scorpius never had, he and Albus walked arm in arm but that was hardly the same. He'd seen enough girls do it and he couldn't for the life of him work out what was so damn desirable about it.

Albus hand was warm, small and thin but not disproportioned or unsightly and it fit well in Scorpius' broader palm and long fingers. He felt the pads of Albus' fingers dig into the back of his hand with a light pressure, fingers tensing between the gaps of his own and amazingly it was soothing.

Putting his quill down he listened to the lecture and abandoned his notes. Letting their hands sway lightly between the chairs.

The hour passed and clock chiming Mister Potter made to dismiss the class for lunch. Scorpius remained seated a little longer, waiting for the other students to begin filing out, so as not to get caught in the rush through the doorway and knocked about. Mister Potter stacked the papers on the front desk, moving one here and another there in some indecipherable order, turning back suddenly with a warm smile gesturing for Albus and Scorpius to approach the front. Mister Potter was not so cruel as to ask them to stay behind in front of their peers. He wasn't one for putting children on the spot in front of other children. Scorpius considered it some repression of his own past.

He left his books, prepared to return for them, and shuffled his chair back. Albus let their hands fall away as he stood, both resting in his lap as he took a deep sighing breath, then turning followed Scorpius to the front of the room as the last boy scrambled out.

By the desk Mister Potter swept Albus into his arms in a tight unrestrained embrace. Dipping his chin, half pressing his face into the other's equally blackened locks, as he squeezed. The observant Malfoy thought to himself that his father would never hug him like that, he wasn't sure if he wanted him to so bluntly anyway, and that Albus looked so much younger when crushed against his clone.

"We've missed you at home Alby." The man eased his grip, holding the boy at arms length and ruffling his hair. "You're looking good though. Put a little weight on too, always been a skinny thing, little meat on those bones can't be bad for you… and you know I don't think its fair your hair does what it's supposed to and mine _still_ doesn't…"

"You must be using the wrong conditioner." Scorpius interjected and the Auror laughed pleasantly.

"You think? I should've made friends with your father sooner maybe then he'd have sorted my rat's nest out." He held his arm out and gestured Scorpius over. Drawing the taller teenager into a, looser, one armed hug that he somehow always felt was necessary ever since Scorpius' first visit. "And you're looking as dashing as ever Scorpius. Though you look a tad more like Lucius than Draco since I last saw you"

"I've found I like my hair this length." He shrugged knowing that the man meant no insult. How the Potter could stand to be so accepting of him he was unsure but he thought from the way he smiled sometimes that Harry was just happy Albus had a friend.

"Are you going to come visit us again over the holidays or will you be borrowing Albus this time?"

"Perhaps both," he frowned thoughtfully. "I haven't much considered it. Grandmother wants Albus over for our Christmas party and I'll be dreadfully bored without him but I would like to see the rest of those movies you've amassed too. They're fascinating."

"We should watch the Wizard of Oz again," Albus spoke up suddenly.

"I'd like to see Dracula too."

"Typical" Mister Potter chuckled. "I introduce you to cinema and you have a penchant for classics."

"The Muggle interpretations of Wizard society are peculiar," Scorpius explained. "I do believe the Malfoy family has to move into the twenty-first century a little or at least the twentieth. It's inescapable really."

"You know I did wonder why you didn't take Muggle Studies."

"My family would never stand for it."

"Oh well," Mister Potter conceded. "You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink. Your family is entitled to their views but just make sure you decide your own for yourself, okay?"

"My family said they'd never stand for me befriending a Potter." Scorpius retorted confidently. "But I did and either way they can't very well disown me. They don't have anyone else."

"You should be nicer to your parents Scorpius."

He rolled his shoulders nonchalantly. Letting Albus take a half step towards him as he took a half step of his own, swaying in his shrug to mask it, to meet him halfway. It was not done out of intimidation or fear, Harry Potter had never been frightening to Scorpius, but he and Albus tended to gravitate.

"Anyway I wanted to see how everything was going." Mister Potter cut to the chase finally. "Are your dreams bothering you any Alby?"

"They don't when I'm with Scorpius."

"That's good." Mister Potter sighed exhaustedly, "Hogwarts always did seem to have an effect on people's health. Have you been staying out of trouble?"

"I haven't been getting caught."

"Well that's more then I can say for your brother," he frowned, "snuck into Hogsmeade last week with some boys and tried to knick the sign off the Three Broomsticks."

"To be bad: that's Slytherin. To be caught: that's Gryffindor." Scorpius quipped supportively and Mister Potter laughed softly chest seeming to bounce.

"You make a valid point," the man agreed. "You two are careful, of course? I know boys will be boys but you should still be cautious."

"I despise nothing more than a ruined pair of dragon hide boots." Malfoy frowned. "We're not terribly likely to go traipsing about the night as if we were James therefore."

Albus laughed restrainedly and only then did the white-blonde realize the irony of the statement after their quest to the Shrieking Shack or simpler still their Midnight Picnics. He chided himself mentally for not making the connection but never the less Mister Potter would no doubt assume Albus was laughing at his obsessive desire for order and cleanliness.

"Well then I'll stop worrying," Mister Potter would never really stop worrying about anything. He, like Scorpius father, had a habit of stressing things. "I should be getting back to the Ministry too boys, you'll have a better week than me I hope, all this paper work is going to be the death of me. Never thought there'd be anything I'd hate more than fighting Voldemort."

"Dad," Albus stated carefully, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"I was trying to tell Zabini a story, and I forgot; where's the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets again?" He lied so fluently Scorpius was unsure whether to be a taken back or proud but remained straight faced.

"Second floor, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, sink with the snake on it." Mister Potter listed automatically and without thinking. "Pity no one can get down there any more, it was rather impressive when I saw it but… I never really had time to appreciate it what with the giant snake trying to eat me and all…"

"Why can't you enter it anymore?" Scorpius inquired lazily.

"You have to speak Parsel-Mouth to the sink." He groaned at the memory. "So no one but Salazar's heirs could enter. I can't anymore and Voldemort and I were the last. Dreadfully unfortunate, I don't miss it so much considering everything that comes with it but I always found snakes had such lovely personalities. It's a shame the gift had to die out."

"How on Earth did Salazar get the gift in the first place?" Scorpius reeled detestably. "I mean it had to come from _somewhere_. It couldn't have always been blood inherited."

"Salazar probably shagged at snake at some point. I wouldn't put it past the old bastard." Mrister Potter suggested casually, before catching himself on the obscenity, eyes flickering to Albus. "But please don't tell your mother I said that."

"Our lips are sealed," the Malfoy drawled.

"I'll see you both at Christmas I'm sure." Mister Potter smiled and enfolded them both quickly before he hurried off via the staff exit. "Look after him Scorpius."

The door closed, lock giving a click-snap, and he glanced dully at Albus beside him.

"He always does," the remaining Potter murmured distantly, shifting on his feet and strolling to their desks to clutch up their luggage.

Scorpius huffed bleary eyed and tired. Today was draining in the least comfortable fashion and he had the immense desire to curl up and sleep. Messaging his temples in tiny, hard, circles he joined Albus. The Potter handed him his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and paused stiffly as his mind struggled with a new dilemma: to loop arm and arm with Albus as he always did or listen to that miniscule part of his brain that wanted, curiously, to try holding his hand once more. He brushed the thought down. The last thing he needed today was to stir up some new rumor.

-369-

Arithmancy was his only class without Albus. In a room with far too many books hovering just about their heads, ready to be picked down and devoured of their educational value like so many apples on a tree, where the desks were along the opposing walls facing inward. Three boards overlapped each other as the chalk moved itself through a complex series of numbers.

It was impossible to miss Albus when he was so bombarded by figures, equations and truthfully he enjoyed the subject something chronic. He never could have stood Divination and Albus' illogical mind would've been far too much for Professor Vector to handle. A series of numbers with no distinguishable pattern stretching onwards for infinity, like pi, he mused to himself good humored.

The Potter loved his Divination lessons likewise. Professor Trelawney was a daft and irresponsibly disorganized woman but she believed him with such conviction he felt in her classes he could speak his mind on all matters. Alongside his obvious founded affections he felt some love, confidence, in her that though seeming ill-founded came from some portion of his brain for some reason he could not deduce despite all else to the contrary.

"What dreams have the spirits blessed you with this time child?" She took both hands in her long nailed fingers, skin shriveled and weak, reminding him painfully of his previous strain of nightmares where he saw himself old and practically decomposing. The pain in his bones incredibly pronounced and forever exhausted.

"I've been dreaming about a mirror in a dark house."

"What do you see in the mirror?"

"A boy who looks like me, yet isn't, who talks to me."

She gave out the same painful wailing she often produced in moments of amazement. Clutching his hands to her chest and muttering feverishly under her breath.

"It's pleasant," he assured her dully.

"Oh but my dear boy, mirrors are bad omens! Horribly bad omens!" She wailed. "Symbols of many misfortunes!"

"Oh?"

"Mirrors my child show a reflection of your soul," She craned over the table, elbows knocking the teacups about, "that is why breaking one is such bad luck! Because it breaks part of your soul too! Mirrors cannot lie! To see something in a mirror that shouldn't be there is a terrible, terrible, sign!"

"Mirrors can't lie?" He queried quietly.

"No! Never never never!"

"Mirrors can't lie," He repeated to himself near inaudibly, "mirrors can't lie."

"My child you're missing the point!"

"Oh! And I keep getting the Grimm in my tea. I think the darn thing's broken."

The woman gave such a ghastly wail of horror Albus wondered perhaps if she might faint.

-369-

Scorpius tried in vain to finish his Arithmancy homework after dinner. Being pressed against the headboard was not entirely uncomfortable but with an exhausted Albus half sprawled across his lap it was difficult to find something to lean on. Zabini proposed he liberate the services of their first year cannon fodder. Finding, much to his dismay, that the runt had already tottered off to bed with the other first years he found himself resorting to the aid of the smitten Geoffrey Bulstrode. Scorpius explained, fingers carding through Albus' hair while he dozed in a purely thoughtless gesture, he couldn't bring himself in good faith to move the dark haired boy after their day. He had a cautious suspicion he might be cursed for it.

"So what happened?" Zabini pestered about his ear as Bulstrode strained to correctly place the number he listed off.

"Rose Weasley and Harry Potter."

"Damn," Bulstrode gawked. "Is Harry Potter really-"

"3.4567788" Scorpius snapped, glancing up from the text book about his hip casually. "I intend to hex something into oblivion very soon."

"Aim away from me, will you?" Zabini propositioned. "Or better yet save it for the Ravenclaw Quidditch match."

"Hmm, physical violence," He muttered thoughtfully.

"Or you could get laid." Bulstrode spoke up. "Usually helps."

"I'm not going to _get laid_," he mimicked irritably, "some squealing woman is the last thing I need."

"Scorpius have you ever gotten laid?" Zabini groaned exasperatedly. "I mean you'd be pretty freakin scary in bed I'd imagine and I haven't heard about any girls miraculously losing their god given ability to walk yet."

"Not my thing."

"What is your thing?" Bulstrode prodded.

"Why? Do you want me to sleep with you?"

"That should be obvious." Zabini retorted.

"Transparently," Scorpius agreed, waving his hand dismissively. "Now, I'm going to sleep. Be gone the both of you!"

"You know Scorpius sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if you _didn't _like me"

"Your imagination does tend to run away with you Xavier."

Flicking his wand Scorpius released the curtains tied to the banisters, letting them fall about the bed, and resting the eleven inches of ebony on the rim of the head board beside Albus' nine inch holly and dragon heartstring wand he settled himself. He struggled to get himself on his back and for a few moments had to shuffle Albus about like a limp doll, not that he weighed much more than one of the life-sized mannequins at Harlequin's Extraordinary Puppet Emporium_,_ before he could happily pull the blankets up and close his eyes.

Scorpius wasn't one to dream often, frankly he thought Albus did enough dreaming for the both of them, and his mind seemed to agree that the whole affair was a trifle frivolous but there were rare occasions when he did.

Tonight was one of those occasions.

He in some god awful village somewhere, it was warm and bright outside, he had strands of grass in his hair. His hair felt different, his body felt different, he felt taller and older and he was lying beneath an unnaturally large tree. It forked out in a million different directions, eclipsing the sky overhead, green and lush. Albus rocked, cradled up in the branches, calling down to him as they chatted.

He shouted up the length of the wood for Albus to come down and the English sounded wrong on his tongue. His words came out slurred and oddly toned like there were stones in his mouth but he felt completely level headed suggesting it was not the kind of speech that came from alcohol. Albus laughed at him but hoisted himself down none the less to collapse on the grass beside his head. Rolling onto his stomach Albus picked a blade of grass from his hair and popped the end in his mouth like a cigarette. He smiled, shoulders scrunched up as he raised himself on his elbows, and met his gaze with twinkling blue eyes.

Jolting suddenly Scorpius took a swift inhale, hacking up his own spit as it got caught at the back of his throat, he coughed miserably before the pain in his lungs subsided. Feeling terribly far from complete composure Scorpius frowned up towards the ceiling of the darkened dorm room silently. His stomach turned and he berated his brain for its foolishness.

Albus had _green_ eyes, _Evans_ family eyes.

Where on earth had his subconscious gotten that ridiculous notion that they were blue? He snorted. He wasn't one to distort facts and such falsities bothered him. Brushing his eyes with the back of his palm he let his forearm rest over his forehead. His stomach turned coldly, empty, and he let the arm weaved round Albus' waist pull the other closer. Blue was _wrong_.

-3-6-9-

"Thirty one years…" Harry whispered into the silk bedding, adjusting Salazar Slytherin's locket idly where it lay about his clavicle, thrumming softly under his fingers with a noticeable trickle of warmth, and thought for a moment if Merope ever did the same. "And today makes thirty two, oh how you life gets away from you…"

Nagini wrapped the end of her tail around his bare calve and squeezed softly, reassuringly, as he sighed. The room was lowly lit in with last night's waning candles and the slowly rising sun peaking through the black drapes. It was impossible to tell with his tired eyes exactly what was blanket and what was part of the giant snake twisted about in the green sheets against him. His other clave fell off the cusp of the mattresses and swayed back and forth toes barely scrapping the wood floor.

"Do you think he's in Russia this time? Or Austria perhaps?" He theorized index finger rubbing over his dry bottom lip out of some odd habit.

Feet padded down the hall outside the door of the master bedroom and he lifted his head cautiously. Nagini tightened another tendril around his waist and raising himself slightly higher he gazed at the polish wood.

The handle turned slowly, as if to minimize the squealing creak the ghastly thing was known for, and his visitor let themselves in.

"Well Merlin's beard." Harry cooed flopping back against the mattress. "I should be so lucky!"

"It's five in the morning." Voldemort grumbled moving to the end of the bed before removing the heavy cloak hanging over his green shoulders. "I thought you'd still be asleep."

"I didn't sleep." He informed casually. "Nagini and I pondered our woes instead."

"What woes could you have?" Draping the shroud over the snake carved mahogany he sat on the edge of the bed and began unlacing his boots.

"There are three Horcruxes in the Manor and all three of us spent last night in an empty bed."

Voldemort cast a wondering eye over the mass of sheet and disheveled pillows, Nagini and Harry amongst them.

"It doesn't look very empty. I don't think I'll fit."

"You're the Dark Lord," Harry scoffed. "I assumed you'd make room for yourself or are you suggesting that man who conquered most of Europe can't push his concubine about a little?"

"You're not a concubine." The man announced critically, rolling his shoulders. "Concubines don't get to make decisions nor do they speak quite as much or as often or as _loudly_ as you do."

"It's not polite to speak with your mouth full."

"How very lewd." Skeletal fingers brushed the tip of his nose. "I don't expect you'll be letting me sleep anytime soon will you?"

Harry snapped at the finger tip.

"I have a present for you."

"Later," Harry insisted, warping his arms around the Dark Lord's shoulders lasciviously. "I won't care till later."

* * *

(1) Is Scorpius speaking a particular way about Albus in his letter so then Narcissa interpreted it as such? Or is Scorpius conning old women? Both or either is up to you! What do you think is more likely?  
(2) Trivia: what do the Taj Mahal, Tutenkhamun's tomb, the Catacombs and Qin's mausoleum have in common?  
(3) Another song, I know, but I assure you I don't put these in for my own amusement! Well not _just_ for my own amusement. Dresden Dolls "Coin Operated Boy" this time.  
(4) Voldemort? Blue eyes? Horocruxes? Any theories this time?

Now the reason this took so long to get up is editing, I try to go over these with a fine toothed comb and take the time to do so as well as I can. If anyone has any spare time to beta and would like to I could be a little faster. If not I shall just have to cease taking so long doing it myself~

I adored question responses last time. Theories and so on from you are fascinating so do share! Also lets me know if I'm being clear in what I'm trying to hint and develop.

So chapter two for you all, I do hope you enjoy it and it was worth the wait, hopefully length shows you I haven't just been lazing about too much. Please review but thank you for reading regardless.

I'm off to see a Wizard about a biology exam~


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Merry Giftmas to you! Something to chew over while you digest all that eggnog and seasonal joy.

* * *

Chapter 3: "Riddle Me"

Nicholas Catchlove gawked open-mouthed at breakfast two Saturdays later while Scorpius nursed his aching temples. Between them Albus continued to shovel his third helping of toast pausing occasionally, from nibbling his crusts, to consume a mouthful of his blueberry pancake. The first year seemed entirely incapable of pulling his eyes away from the Potter, as he ate, lost in his awe.

"I don't think I've ever seen you eat so much…" He gaped. "You're so tiny! Where are you putting it all? Scorpius, is this normal?"

"Pre-Quidditch munchies," Malfoy rationalized. "I think he must have several stomachs to contain and process the amount of food he consumes before each game."

"Some animals eat their young," Albus articulated suddenly, "lots of protein and other lovely things."

"We must also consider it as a nervous habit." Scorpius continued completely unaffected by the rampant absurdity. "He does a similar routine before exams. More is consumed in relation to his poorer subjects. I'd advise you to keep your hands off the table the morning of his Astronomy exam."

"We need chocolate cake."

"That's not a breakfast food," the Malfoy pointed out matronly, "it'll rot your teeth."

"Yes but special occasions call for special breakfast exceptions," he insisted, "we'll get you strawberry jam and sponge cake with vanilla icing or chocolate coated cherries. I'll have some chocolate coated strawberries now that I think of it…"

"Special occasion?"

Albus put down his cutlery and gazed intently at Scorpius' high cheekbones. A pale hand came before his own mouth, eclipsing pink pouting lips, and he laughed.

"October eighth."

Scorpius blinked incredulously messaging his temple with his right hand as he turned the thoughts and dates over tumultuously in his head. It dawned on him suddenly: a pile of proverbial bricks crashing down around him.

"How despicable." He groaned. "I was hoping to avoid the whole accursed affair this year."

"Let me guess;" Nicholas whispered reverently, "some grand Slytherin tradition that involves locking first years in broom closets, or feeding them to Professor Longbottom's man eating Glordus plant, or setting them on fire perhaps?"

"All of the above," Scorpius imparted.

"It's his birthday." Albus whispered, pressing his blueberry smudged lips very close to Nicholas small pink ear, "he's fifteen."

"And he forgot?" Nicholas muttered with obvious veneration.

"He always forgets."

"Albus always reminds me unfortunately."

"Did you get him anything?" Nicholas questioned. "I would've found you something if you'd told me Scorpius."

"Your silence on the matter around our housemates will serve as good enough."

"I got a Scorpius a magic eight ball in second year," Albus recounted, "he still has it in his trunk"

The bumbling first year burst into a fit of laughter, burying his face in the crux of his crossed arms, shoulders rocking. Scorpius tugged at his boots, adjusting the straps around his knees, and sat straight. Pulling his hair back from where it lay around tumbling over his shoulders he held it in his palm, fingers fishing for a hair tie, to restrain it. He couldn't very well punch the detestable little first year with a face full of hair.

-369-

Their first match of the season against Hufflepuff was never going to end well for the opposition. As Scorpius caught the Quaffle, tossed haphazardly towards his head one handed, casting Oswald Aubrey a despairingly bored glance another cry of despair came from the stands and the hopelessness of the situation seemed to sink in.

In the booth Zabini had stolen the announcer's position and was performing his duties with enormous zeal. Nicholas was still nursing his bruised cheek in the Slytherin section but cheering with such enthusiasm his tiny body looked as though it might teeter over the railing the next time he threw himself up, and all the while Albus was hanging precariously from his third generation Nimbus X swinging in the winds with a beaming smile about his face as he waited to make his move. Such was the joy in the Slytherin Quidditch side.

The Hufflepuff team was beginning to look altogether anxious by now. The scores were mounting a hundred and ten to zero, Scorpius' steadfast vigil on the goals as formidable as ever, and Albus' relaxed form was more than a little disconcerting for Hufflepuff's weak stomached Seeker.

"Well Kiddies, second hour and it is _not _looking up for the Puffs. I think now might be the time to find a good funeral director for Mister Aubrey's Quidditch career because by-Jove I think he's going to need one!" Zabini's voice echoed through the stands followed by a procession of boos and assorted jeering.

Scorpius surveyed the sweeping motions of the opposition and his team mates through the air watching the juggling of the balls carefully. He straddled his broom misleadingly still and focused. His neck twisted, shifting his weight, he swayed to one side as a Bludger flew narrowly past him. Near misses didn't bother him so much. It was good practice for when he faced off James considering then someone would actually be aiming for him. Falling back into his comfortable slouch he let his gaze skim the upper heights of the field. Finding to his surprise that Albus was no longer hanging from his mount but had stole away into the crowd of other players, unbeknownst to the circling Hufflepuff Seeker, he tightened his grip on the broom. The match would be over soon if Albus was on the move.

Albus didn't venture out unless he had a reason to move, he went for the snitch when he could, didn't waste his time wandering about the field aimlessly. If Albus was moving Albus had it in his sights and would no doubt catch it before the opposing Seeker had gotten his act together and realized he was gone.

"Looks like Aubrey's going for it again! Ladies and gents will he make it?"

Scorpius attention flickered back to the swiftly approaching Oswald and sighed. With his teammates lagging behind in pursuit the Hufflepuff took little advantage of the situation and once more lazily heaved the Quaffle in the general direction of the posts. There was no attempt to aim, no hope for success, just a blind shot down the barrel and Scorpius was insulted by the lack of effort. He wasn't the greatest Keeper in the history of Qudditch, despite immaculate breeding, but he made an attempt. He expected an attempt be returned so feeling predictably vindictive he caught the ball and with a twist of his wrist shot it back almost as soon as he caught it.

The ball spiraled back and landed square between Oswald's eyes.

Smirking he watched the boy reel to regain his grip on his broom, grasping his face, as a unanimous gasp rang out amongst the spectators. In the booth Zabini was too busy chortling to comment immediately. Retching for breath he made some effort to compose himself:

"Well apparently not! Remember everybody: don't beat yourself up instead let Malfoy do it for you!"

Scorpius snorted, anger evaporated, and kept his eyes open for Albus. On the upper rim the Hufflepuff Seeker had finally noted his absence and was, like Scorpius, scanning desperately for some hint of him. Suddenly the boy, whose name Scorpius failed to recall with little interest, swooped towards the grass of the pitch. Scorpius leant forward on his broomstick and too saw Albus floating along, teetering close to the ground, nearing the centre of the pitch.

"Oh! Ouch!" Zabini cried suddenly, "Looks like Herbert Vaisey is on the way down everybody! Apparently someone taught the Hufflepuff Beaters how to _aim _this season!"

Scorpius averted his eyes from the splintered wood and limp form slumped a good hundred feet below while the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors broke into a simultaneous cheer. There was a good measure of head shaking and sighing from the Ravenclaws on the matter while Madame Hooch blew here whistle screaming vehement penalties.

"Now I'm no genius folks," Zabini ignored the cheer of agreement, "but I thought being dastardly and generally underhanded was an exclusively Slytherin position. I'd like to suggest someone have Cornelius Smith resorted! On the underside of things however, literally, looks like Albus Potter's spotted the snitch! _GO AL GO!_"

Slytherin's turn to cry out exuberantly echoed through the air, blown away in an updraft, while Scorpius fingers tightened and slackened on the stem of the nimbus somewhat anxiously.

Albus glided, feet skimming the grass, with the Hufflepuff Seeker in hot pursuit. He tossed his head back over his shoulder and laughed at the other boy before pulling straight up. Causing Smith and Aubrey who had been moving towards the Slytherin goal above him to flutter away and fumble the Quaffle into the hands of one of their chasers: Arthur Harper. Albus reached almost two hundred feet, the Hufflepuff Seeker tumbling into the earth far below, and with a practiced gesture outstretched his arm and grasped the snitch. His hair brushed heavenward as he let himself plummet back down and after the second's pause held to see him catch the golden orb passed Slytherin broke out into their war cry.

"Well you can't win em all but then again you can certainly win most of em!" Zabini supplied loftily as Albus touched the ground, presenting the still twisting snitch to Madame Hooch before kissing the small gold ball reverently. "So with the match set that's two hundred and sixty points to Slytherin and a big fat zero to Hufflepuff."

Satisfied Scorpius lowered himself to the ice tipped ground of the pitch, grass crunching under his boots, and dismounted. Gripping his broom one handedly he strode across the way to where Albus was still cupping the small, fluttering, golden snitch. Flushed and panting he turned to the Malfoy and winked. The other players amassed on the ground, clustering towards Albus, drawn like flies. Arthur Harper slapped the Potter so hard on the back Albus stumbled. The crowds were leaving the stands when Scorpius weaved his way past the last two players and stood beside Albus proudly.

"Party in the dungeons!" Vaisey proclaimed victoriously, bruised and battered from his fall but still as eternally loud and preposterous. "Drinks curtsey of Zabini and his incredibly large mouth."

"I don't make the news Herbert I just report it!" Zabini clutched his chest passionately, "regular Rita Skeeter here!"

"All the more reason you're providing the beverages," Vaisey retorted, "that woman's a troll."

"Dolores Umbridge is a troll," Albus corrected, "Rita Skeeter is a beetle."

"Trolls! Beetles! Toads!" Zabini gestured his hand dismissively, "let's celebrate!"

Scorpius chuckled to himself and led Albus out of the crowd of excitable housemates to the empty changing rooms. Albus collapsed on the bench and hands held close to his chest let his hair fall into his damp face, covered in a cold sweat, sticking and curling down his chin. Sitting alongside him the blonde Malfoy unlaced his padding to disrobe. His boots came off after the padding and then his gloves. He was straining to pull his robes off when Scorpius noted the stiffness of Albus' position and his hesitation to move.

"Are you alright?" it occurred to Scorpius that the panting Potter may have pulled or perhaps sprained some muscle but the smile on his face suggested otherwise, "Albus…"

The Potter held out his closed palms, wrapped about each other, beating wings flailing between his fingers.

"The snitch," Scorpius inclined a fine eyebrow incredulously. "Why on earth do you still have that silly thing?"

"We're going to need it later," Albus explained pulling his hands away from Scorpius' intense inspection, "I know where we have to go now, to find the Catacombs from my dream, and today's the day to do it. While everyone else is celebrating that is."

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Scorpius pried suspiciously. "You think your Mirror's there?"

Albus nodded.

"We have to go now, don't we?"

Another brisk affirmation.

Scorpius concluded buttoning up his shirt wrapping his Quidditch robes in preparation to stow them in one of the changing closet for safe keeping. He raised his hand and tugging dislodged the hair tie from behind his head. Albus handed him the snitch carefully, ensuring Scorpius had it trapped between his long fingers, and watched the Malfoy bind it tightly in the elastic. The boy proceeded to pocket the softly thrumming device and saunter, with his robes bundled in his arms, to the cabinet as Albus disrobed.

Albus threw off his clothes quickly. Gripping his jeans and pulling them up over his hips almost frantically, feverishly sloppy, so Scorpius could likewise gather up his Quidditch robes and hide them. It was logical that they'd return for them later, making a pit stop at the dungeons would draw attention and otherwise slow them down. Scorpius locked the changing closet, jinxing it lowly under his breath in a precautionary manner, and let Albus usher them out of the changing room back towards the school.

"How ever are we going to get in?" Scorpius queried, clambering up the grassy knoll back into the courtyard, "I thought your father said no one could enter the chamber anymore?"

"The tap's going senile," Albus replied. "My uncle Ron fooled it into thinking he was speaking parseltongue in seventh year. I've heard him, when he tells the story, it's a strange sound but not impossible to recreate. We can do it."

"And what about the giant snake?" The blonde muttered hauntingly, unconvinced, there was a different anticipation in the idea of venturing down to the chamber. It was a new kind of danger.

"Just rats down there now, all that's left of the snake is its bones, like in my dream."

"Sounds charming." Scorpius groaned, "it's going to be filthy isn't it?"

"Most likely," Albus sighed sympathetically as they worked their way up the staircases, hand sliding elegantly over the banisters, "but dirty is better than snake infested I suppose…though I would very much like to see a Basilisk…"

"I'll take the Basilisk over rats, disgusting vermin," Scorpius cringed. "Did your uncle mention any other beasts down there?"

"Just the snake."

"That's positive then."

Scorpius and Albus circled the second floor bathroom cautiously. The bathroom itself would most likely be empty, with Moaning Myrtle's hysterical sobbing and the soft sound of gushing water bouncing off the stone work from behind the green door, but the blonde wanted to ensure that they weren't seen to enter the bathroom by any wandering eyes. Most of the subjects who might observe he and Albus entering the bathroom from afar would brush it off as Slytherin pranks or perhaps start some nasty rumor that they were snogging in the stalls but if someone were to mention it to a bright spark like Rose or James who would understand the significance of the location it could lead to trouble.

The Malfoy scanned the hallway one way and the other as they approached for a third time. There were no girls clustered about nor a wandering Professor Vector this time and nodding decidedly he followed Albus into the bathroom. Scorpius closed the door behind them catching Albus as he stepped back into his chest and pressed them up against the green wood. He glanced over Albus' shorter body while gripping the Potter's upper arms to balance him. Sandwiched between his companion and the wood work he could see the mess of water and toilet paper floating out from the thrown open stalls and broken lavatories.

Moaning Myrtle was sighing miserably a few feet off the ground not to far from them and unfamiliar with her demeanor personally yet well versed in all manner of stories concerning her Scorpius had some idea what they were dealing with.

"Who are you lot then?" She demanded. "Come to laugh at me?"

"Scorpius Malfoy," he imparted with no lack of bravado, "and this is Albus Severus Potter. Now if you don't mind we have business to attend to."

"A Potter?" She squinted at Albus from behind dirty spectacles, nose crumpling, "and a Malfoy? And what do you two want? Come to snog? Romilda Flex says you're awfully familiar with each other. Well if you have you can go away! I want to be alone!"

"Romilda Flex hasn't the daftest clue what she's talking about." Scorpius snapped commandingly. "And I don't care, this isn't your bathroom, this is a public venue."

"You're horrid!" She screamed. "Horrid! Horrid! Your Daddy used to come sobbing in here! Sniffling wiffling Malfoy!"

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of that." He gestured contemptuously. "Now if you will please move out of the way. If you don't I'm afraid I'll have to step right through you and that would be terribly rude."

"Oh yes! Just step right through me! I can't feel it!" Myrtle exclaimed particularly scornful, "twenty points if it goes through my-"

"This is sounding awfully familiar…" Albus declared, ponderous, "I don't mean to interrupt but we really have to get to work."

The ghost let out a distraught and dreadful wail, hands clenched in tight fists by her side, and proceeded to throw herself about the bathroom. Scorpius rolled his eyes coolly and gripping Albus' thin wrist tugged the bashful boy towards the sinks, wading through the water, kicking about the soggy rolls as he walked. Once at the porcelain sinks and cast iron taps he looped his arm round Albus' waist to help the boy stay straight.

"Which one?" He asked.

Albus ran his fingers over the taps and spouts curiously, regarding them each until with a little cry of delight he found the one he was looking for. Pressing his finger beneath the carved snakes he pointed them out.

"Alright," Scorpius scowled, "so…"

"We just have to fool it." Albus giggled breathlessly, nerves manifesting, not bothering to calm his tone he leant closer hissing and spluttering over half formed words. Scorpius noted the carefully woven use of Latin syllables to try and deceive the enchanted tap.

The snakes wouldn't budge.

Scorpius tugged Albus back leaning forth, however foolish he felt, to attempt the maneuver himself. Hissing slowly and carefully, raising and lowering his octaves around half imprinted words, calling upon a few of the dead dialects his grandfather thought purebloods should be versed in and to his surprise the snakes moved. He withdrew and Albus clapped his hands delightedly.

"You're brilliant Scorpius."

"I try," he shrugged, stepping aside to allow the sink to shift and give way to the pipe he assumed was a chute down to the Chamber of Secrets. "It really does look unpleasant…"

"Exciting none the less."

"I suppose." Scorpius brushed his hair back, wishing at first he had cut it during the summer and then that he had his hair tie which was currently binding the stolen snitch so that it would not become as filthy as it undoubtedly would from a trip down the tunnel. "Malfoys aren't adventurers like your family I'm afraid, glory hogs or fighters maybe but not thrill seekers, doesn't sit well in the blood."

"It's alright. I like you as you are," Albus lowered himself, sitting on the rim of the chute, legs dangling down, "much more practically minded then me."

"Someone has to be," Scorpius swallowed at the sight, "it's a miracle your father lived long enough to reproduce."

"Keeping up the family tradition then." Albus laughed, preparing to heave himself off, "bottoms up!"

Scorpius cringed, shoulders tensing, and fought down the instinct to grab Albus and pull him up as he pushed off and slid down the pipe like it was some sort of theme park attraction into the pits of hell. Gathering up whatever guts he hoped Malfoy men were equipped with somewhere he lowered himself onto the edge, taking a deep serene breath, and grumbling at the difficulty of being so tall however elegant and attractive it might be. Being tall apparently wasn't practical when befriending a Potter.

He steeled himself, preparing, he reasoned he couldn't very well leave Albus to wander about the damnable pit by himself but he still didn't like it. He took another breath, raised his arms slightly and jolted as Moaning Myrtle flew from her hiding place to shove at him roughly in the small of his back pushing him just over the edge and down the pipe-

"Serves you right you horrid boy!" She bellowed down the chute above him.

Tumbling out of the chute into the dirt and grime of the paved tunnels surrounding the Chamber of Secrets Scorpius groaned. Albus who had leapt out of the way of his falling body with a squeak sat a few feet away gasping.

"You could've warned me"

"She pushed me!" Scorpius glowered furiously, "she pushed me! When I get my hands on her pasty transparent neck-"

Albus began laughing ludicrously over the sound of the sink sliding back into place above their heads back through the tunnel and frowning Scorpius rearranged the now hopelessly dirty white-blonde locks about his face. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat from 'Alice in Wonderland' Albus crawled over to him, brushing another wayward strand from his face and placing a tiny kiss to his high cheek bones like he had the night of the Shrieking Shack visit.

"You shouldn't do that," Scorpius lectured, "I'm filthy now, and who knows what kind of bacteria is festering down here."

"Oh it's fine." The Potter smiled pulling Scorpius to his feet as best he could, "you look rather…chic in all that dirt somehow…"

"I don't think it would catch on as a fashion trend." Malfoy snorted, "we'll leave it for special occasions instead. Lord knows you're the only person I would get this dirty for willingly and I hope you appreciate it."

"Every second of it."

Shaking his head Scorpius followed the smaller boy down the pathway of rounded tunnels towards the Chamber. The whole manner of the place reminded him of the sewers he'd seen in all those Muggle horror films James had been very excited about a few years ago with aliens and clowns and all manner of stupidly creepy things.

Steeping down onto a flatter more open region Scorpius and Albus each cast a _Lumos _charm to guide their descent. There was no formality here, no wandering eyes, just the looming possibility of something deadly and such a lack of etiquette parried by creation of purpose gave Scorpius' mind the excuse it had been looking for to hold Albus' hand once more. So he intertwined their wet and slimy fingers tightly, pressing their warm palms together, and for a moment he mind seemed not to care in the least about the condition of his shirt.

Walking slowly, practically strolling, Albus began to hum the sound ringing up and around them hauntingly.

"_If you sing loud and clear, someone passing by will surely hear you, no you can't be afraid, if you ever want somebody near you…"(2)_

Albus continued through the song lazily, reciting one of the few Muggle artists Scorpius enjoyed; whose CDs littered the carpet of Albus' small and crowded room in Godric's Hollow. The snitch jittered about in his pocket and he thought he couldn't wait to be rid of the damnable thing just as the main chamber came into view. The bones of the beast, vertebrae of a long spinning spine and tossed ribs large enough for Scorpius to duck under and walk through, lay scattered and once more he thanked his lucky stars the thing was long dead.

The next thing that came to Scorpius was the stench of slowly decayed giant snake, rat feces and the wafting metallic aroma rising up from the dirty water long since contaminated with Basilisk blood. He pinched his brow darkly, while Albus squeezed his hand with an overjoyed gasp and he sensed this was what the Potter had seen in his dreams.

"This is it!" He cooed, "this is exactly it!"

"I really should bring my future wife here on our first date, it'll appropriately set the mood for the rest of the marriage, don't you think?"

Albus swatted his shoulder and led them closer to the mammoth stone face of Salazar Slytherin.

"Merlin's beard," the Potter mumbled, "he wasn't the most handsome man was he?"

"I think the artist has taken some creative license in an effort to make him look intimidating." Scorpius chewed over the inside of his cheek bitterly, "how the bloody hell did he get someone down here to build this anyway? You'd need an entire crew...and no one knew where the chamber was for six hundred years? What, were the other founders having _happy hour_ while this was going on?"

"Scorpius you look for far too much reason in an illogical world."

"Only because people like you, and Salazar obviously, expect people like _me_ to figure out how to build you things like these monumental secret chambers. Makes my head ache at the very thought of it." He snorted in an attempt to drive the stench from his nose, "please promise me you'll never want something like this put in. I'd die."

"I'll try," Albus replied sorrowfully, "but you must understand it's a rather tempting request."

"Let's just focus on your mirror for the moment then," Scorpius shrugged. "Do you know where it might be?"

"It's in the house from my dreams…"

"Well I certainly don't see a house." He waved his wand about, casting beams of light into the corners of the great space, "I see a lot of things I'd rather never had seen but no houses."

"Well then…" Albus drummed his fingers on the side of his thigh, gnawing his pouting bottom lip, "there must be something here that can help us find the house…"

"Well would you like to check the giant carcass, the ugly stone face-" Scorpius spread his wand hand out before him like a salesman in a showroom, "-or the dirty watery graves of death first?"

"Stone face." The Potter replied in total seriousness forcing the Malfoy to groan distastefully and approach the monument.

To Scorpius' horror the mouth of the face opened on approach like some automatic garage door into another dark curved tunnel. As they stepped inside the pair almost stumbled at the slope and smoothness of the curve worn into the paving stones. It was obvious to Scorpius that only the Basilisk had been using this particular tunnel for some impossible stretch of time.

The idea of a giant snake existing very happily, asleep or otherwise, in the school's plumping for well over a century completely and utterly undetected put a coldness in his stomach that was frightening. What else could one hide in the hallowed, sacred, halls of Hogwarts without someone catching on if a Basilisk snuck under the radar? What more had Voldemort left _just lying around_ during his occupation? What might've crawled up from the forest and started breeding? How many secrets passages or dark objects were left unknown? He thought for a second he might faint from the weight of the epiphany.

"Scorp!" Albus hissed reverently.

It wasn't until that moment he noticed the faintly glowing light ahead of them, soft blue, tracing the edge of a turn up ahead it was stashed beyond. Senses returned to the task at hand he could feel Albus' tightly clutching fingers and the strain in his ankles as he fought to keep his footing in the passage. Albus twisted round the edge of the turn, hand drawing Scorpius like a life line, and the Malfoy stood half behind him, half beside him, to look down at a glowing ivory hand mirror.

"What the devil…" Scorpius raised an eyebrow appraisingly, "I don't suppose that's your mirror?"

"No…" Albus blinked, "but it's obviously enchanted. A Portkey maybe?"

"Perhaps."

"Only one way to find out."

"Unfortunately."

Albus cast him an almost hesitant glance.

"You sure you want to come?"

"I'm hardly letting you go by yourself." Scorpius insisted, kneeling onto the stone, and helping Albus to do like wise. "On three then."

"One, two…"

"Three."

-369-

Scorpius could perceive a bright blue sky overhead. He could feel thick grass under him and from the corner of his eye a great stone angel, a likeness of the grim reaper, loomed. Albus rose onto his knees beside him, waving thin fingers over his line of vision, and he stared following the pale hand dazedly as the sound of Albus' muttering trickled into his hearing, soft and tumbling, like a stream.

"Where are we?"

"The graveyard," Albus answered, pale and sullen, "or at least I think this is the graveyard… it looks like what my Dad described…and then…"

Albus' eyes ventured off into the distance, somewhere beyond the stone angel Scorpius could make out a fraction of, and it was another moment before he regained his voice.

"Then that would be Riddle Manor…"

The jumbled pieces of Scorpius' mind relocated themselves suddenly and he sat forward swiftly. Rolling over in the grass he glanced off towards where Albus too was gazing. He gaped at the somewhat frail structure on the hill top not far from the graveyard, the darkened windows and the chipped paint of an empty and forgotten building. The manor appeared to have a presence, like Malfoy Manor's inbuilt snootiness, staring back at them.

It was not the most inviting sight.

The prospect of finding Albus' mirror was growing but this caused Scorpius to question the nature of it. The building, if nothing else, was undoubtedly cursed. Cursed, cursed, cursed…

"Is it…" he swallowed, "is it like in your dream?"

"I'd have to see inside to know…" Albus responded, voice barely above a whisper, "should we…?"

"We're here now," Scorpius fumbled, "I mean, that is…You want to know, don't you? It would be foolish to turn back now after we just spent an hour trudging about in the Chamber of Secrets…Besides, it's not as if the master of the house will be home…"

"We hope," the Potter finished bluntly, "but you're right…It could really be in there…"

Scorpius didn't like being right all at once. His mind, cold and calculating, urged them forward but his Malfoy instincts screamed a cowardly: _run! Run for the hills! Save your deliriously rich ass!_

"Your Father killed Voldemort. It's ridiculous to be afraid." Unsure of whom exactly he was convincing he pulled himself up, hopelessly brushing down his now thoroughly stained pants, "the most we'll find are some dark objects…maybe boggarts, snakes, and the sort…"

"We're off to see the Wizard then!" Albus grinned brokenly, bouncing up beside him and bounding across the grass towards the back entrance door of the Manor.

"The wonderful wizard of Oz…" Scorpius sighed lagging behind.

Albus waited for him at the entrance peering through the four glass panels in the upper half giving view to what Scorpius assumed, from his knowledge of old houses, was a kitchen. Moving to a blotchy window pane beside the door he too took a quick glance at the interior and appraised the old tiled room and stove silently.

"Doesn't look as if anyone has been here for a very long time does it?"

"Well if they have they require the service of a good house elf that's for sure," Scorpius agreed. "Is the door locked?"

"Nice and tight," Albus answered, whipping out his wand, "_Alohomora_"

The door clicked, lock-bolt shifting aside, and opened inward with a long ominous creak. The pair strode within and ventured briskly through the kitchen into the living areas and then the convoluted mess of hallways and corridors lining the belly of the beast. Up the precarious flight of stairs and round a bend Albus came to a grinding halt causing Scorpius to press jolting into him almost throwing them against the dusty green carpets.

"What is it?"

"This _is _it," Albus stressed amazedly.

"Dreaming about Voldemort's ancestral home cannot be a good sign," Scorpius mumbled, "can't be a good sign at all…"

"The mirror's up ahead," the Potter explained dreamily, fingers trailing over the wall as he followed the path he'd obviously seen on more occasions than he let on manifested before him, "Round the corner…"

Scorpius picked up his feet and stuck close to Albus' back.

"End of the next hall," the darker haired teen continued, counting the doors as he moved, as if reciting a poem "last on the left."

He cupped the brass handle cautiously, staring intently at the darkly veneered wood as if it might swallow him up whole, and Scorpius thought he may have to whisper some trace of encouragement when the Potter threw the door open and entered the sitting room.

At first there seemed to be nothing of great interest but as Albus glanced away from the window on their right and towards the interior door to their left Scorpius trailed his line of sight and spotted something forebodingly peculiar.

The full length mirror was elegant and robust, wrapped in a silver frame with twisting emerald eyed snakes, and filled with pitch black glass. The darkness created a depth to the mirror and while light bounced off its surface casting blobby distorted images of Albus and Scorpius warped like off the back of a spoon to such effect it failed to really reflect anything.

Scorpius was lost for words, Albus had been right, and though he'd never consciously doubted him neither had the Malfoy ever considered that it might be true or what he would do if such was the case. He wasn't sure where to go, what tactic to take from his proverbial corner, as Albus stared doe eyed at the object. He was still waiting to wake up.

The manner of the situation, standing in Riddle Manor of all places, after taking a portkey from the Chamber of Secrets gave herald to the Mirror's provenance. There was no leap in his mind. This was obviously a product of dark magic and this was obviously an object which had a one point or another belonged to Lord Voldemort. It was doubtlessly dangerous in some regard and it hinted the question, a question Scorpius now had to confront without escape: why was Albus dreaming about Voldemort's things? And if this had all been accurate did that insinuate that Albus could see into the future?

"Isn't there supposed to be a boy?" Scorpius tried, parched dry of his intellectual presence, "you said you saw a boy in the mirror who looked like you but wasn't you?"

"Yes," Albus agreed, "but then in my dream, when I see him, it's night. It's still daylight here."

"So, we're in the right location but not at the right moment in time?"

"I think so yes," Albus sunk onto the dusty floor boards as if possessed by an iron like thread of hope, "maybe if we wait…"

"We should retrieve the hand mirror…" Scorpius sat himself in one of the brown leather armchairs near his dark haired companion, leaning back over the arm rest to continue their conversation, "or else we'll have to find some alternative way to get back to Hogwarts without it and I haven't the foggiest inclination about where this place is."

"We probably can't get back here again without it either…" the Potter nodded, "it should still be on the grass in the graveyard. We must have forgotten to pick it up in all the excitement."

"Are you going to remain here?"

"I don't want to risk missing it," Albus revealed bashfully, "but I'll come with you if you'd like."

"No," Scorpius stood again, legs aching from the brief chance to rest comfortably after recent battery, "I'll fetch it, will only take a few minutes."

Albus nodded gratefully watching Scorpius' retreating back as he left, long hair trailing down between his shoulders, leaving the door cast open. He thought to himself that perhaps he should move one of the armchairs around anticipating a long wait but he was still rather too stunned to will his body to move properly. Albus could imagine the horrible squealing the chair legs would make on the floorboards when if he tried to drag one of the chairs he had no hope of lifting by himself.

"Mirrors can't lie," he repeated quietly to himself, "mirrors can't lie."

-369-

The sun had set and their wands where littered by their hips on the floor casting a _Lumos_ around the small sitting room. Scorpius had left the curtains open to give some gauge of time but shut and locked the door of the room so as to dismiss part of the eeriness of sitting around Voldemort's Manor at night by creating a tiny sense of security.

Scorpius had been prepared to light the fire at first but his confidence evaporated when he knocked a small stone gnome on the mantel and set off a _Bombarda_ hex that exploding the tiny likeness by his head. So they sat, somewhat cold, in the early evening on the floor by the mirror or half in the armchairs. Albus pulled Scorpius hand into his lap gingerly after a while and began reading the lines in the skin of his palm like he'd been taught.

"Long life line."

"Good?"

"Good" Albus nodded, squinting and pressing his nose close to the palm, "enormous travel line."

"And that means?"

"Each line's supposed to represent a trip and the longer it is the more significant it is. You have lots of little ones and one really big one." The Potter grinned, "I have one too."

"Anything about scandal?"

"Plenty," Albus assured him to his contentment. "Not many union lines though."

"Subsequently?"

"Not many close relationships."

"I could've told you that."

Albus let his palm drop and Scorpius retracted it casually to sit back in his lap with its twin. Albus put his palms flat on the wood behind him, leaning back and casting a wayward gaze to the mirror and then back to Scorpius. He smiled lazily and let his eyelids flutter.

"I'm getting tired." Scorpius admitted into the silence, "it's not terribly late and we didn't schedule a picnic so no one has any reason to look for us but they'll wonder where we are nonetheless…Zabini and Catchlove at least…we're going to need a cover story of some sort."

Albus lay back completely on the musty creaking boards, arms crossed behind his head, chest raised by the angle of it, pressing his knees together and drawing them up. Scorpius put his palms flat on the wood behind him as Albus had done and leant back, one side towards the windows, and tilted his head hair hanging by his shoulder to stare. The Potter let his bent legs lean in the opposite direction, towards the mirror, so he could twist his head against his upper arm and stare back.

The wind was picking up outside but Scorpius paid it no heed, instead he tried to block out the disturbing sounds of items rocking, the small but altogether typical sounds of an old house expanding and contracting on it hunches in the night.

He reasoned that while there was hesitation and caution in his veins tonight there was no real fear or anxiety. His father seemed to be made of shivering when he was stressed, anxious to a key, but Scorpius had never found himself so. He could remember nothing that had ever frightened him bar Albus' recent rare moment of misery and that was not so much fear as a sadness he felt himself at the sight of it.

Sitting in Voldemort's abode he just wanted their quest to bear something spectacular. A selfish Malfoy longing for showmanship on the part of a mirror he snorted.

Albus broke their glazed eye contact to the window and the gushing breeze howling and prowling over the country side like a pack of hungry wolves. He turned back to Scorpius and cocked his head towards the mirror.

"It's almost as dark as it usually is in my dreams. The house sounds almost the same now to." Albus rolled his head back to glace at the plain plaster ceiling and the tiny patches of damp clustering through. "It's peaceful here. I like it, the soul of the house, its green."

Scorpius checked the ivory hand mirror portkey sitting on the low lying table by the sofa, still glowing its soft iridescent blue, and he felt that if worse came to worse they would need to have it nearby. It was beautiful in its own right. He already had developed a fondness for the workmanship of it.

"Tom Riddle would've made it while he was at school." Albus whispered. "The only time he would've been in Hogwarts, in the Chamber of Secrets, with enough time to set it up properly. He had an eye for lovely things."

"Tom Riddle?"

"Voldemort."

Scorpius nodded. It was strange to think of a legend as a student once upon a time, sleeping in their dormitories, and sneaking into their second floor bathroom like he and Albus had. It created a series of similarities that would've bothered him if he felt it in him to care if he was compared to Voldemort or not.

The wind howled a second time and somewhere an unlocked shutter was thrown against a window frame causing both of the boys to jump. Scorpius clutched his chest on reflex but released it as soon as the humble reality dawned on him. Paranoia subsided but the wind seemed particularly violent now and outside was becoming increasingly dark, all traces of the sun long gone, the moon filtering lazily through the windows.

Scorpius knew they'd have to return eventually but they could spend most of the night waiting so long as they were in their beds by dawn. Still the idea of leaving their small locked room while it was dark or passing down into the graveyard to activate the portkey was not appealing considering the weather.

Albus moved onto his knees before the mirror, entranced, and Scorpius straightened his pose to regard the black glass.

"What's wrong?"

"The feeling…" Albus dabbed his dry lips with his tongue, "it's going to be very soon."

"Has it occurred to you who might be in the mirror with your look-alike yet?"

"No," he shook his head distantly, "I still can't remember who else I saw."

"You sounded frightened by it." Scorpius droned. "Are you sure this won't be a bad idea? This will be our last chance to turn around."

"Yes," Albus agreed fingers twisting in his lap, "but if we miss tonight I don't think we'll ever get another chance. It has to be now and I have to know. This can help somehow, I'm not sure exactly, but I know it can help. The more I sit here the more I can feel it. You don't think I'd have all these dreams for nothing…do you…?"

Albus seemed caught by the suggestion like perhaps this was one more cruel joke on fate's behalf and Scorpius leant a little closer, speaking quietly and tentatively, in a way he didn't know he could at the best of times.

"It's too uncanny," he assessed. "You've been right thus far haven't you? I see no reason why you should be wrong about this in light of it."

"Thanks Scorp."

The wind went dead.

The pair stiffened involuntarily and both sets of eyes lingered on the glittering frame of the mirror in the sudden silence. Scorpius' fingers extended by his hip and scooped up his wand as he kept himself primed on the black glass and as Albus rose on his haunches expectantly Scorpius saw himself do the same.

"_Show me the living children of Harry Potter_."

It was a strange voice, a common sound warped beyond conscious recognition, and it echoed through the room with a lofty quality. It was confident and appealing but there was brokenness, something sharp and despondent, lingering hidden in the syllables. Scorpius realized to his amazement that it was coming from the mirror.

The ebony glass rippled like the surface of the Black Lake and Scorpius squinted into the void as the surface began to resettle. Showing a clear image of a room, very much like the one they were sitting in but with a roaring fire, plush carpet, clean refurnished furniture…

In one of the armchairs Scorpius knew was behind them, sat a figure very who once more bore a startling resemblance to Albus. He had green eyes, an _Avada Kedavra_ green as his Grandfather would say, the tussled mop of jet black hair, the same innately pale fine features but engaging the sight Scorpius could see the man was obviously older than he or Albus. His jaw fell as he realized, from the giveaway lightning bolt scar, that he was staring at a well dressed Harry Potter. Albus likewise was entranced by the peculiarity of it and Scorpius swore he could feel the other boy's heart flutter, breath hitched in his throat.

Harry Potter regarded them gracefully chin in bruised sickly white fingers and frowned. He lowered his hand, straightening his back, and tilted his head the tiniest fraction. His mouth moved slowly, fluently but cautiously, and with a disbelieving scowl he spoke again;

"_Can you see me?" _

Hearing the voice from the other side of the glass a second time Scorpius knew unmistakably that it was Mister Potter's.

Albus nodded numbly, swallowing.

The Mister Potter in the mirror seemed shocked.

"You can hear me too?" He pressed his fingers to his lips, his other hand gripping the arm of the chair in an iron grip, long nails digging into the leather painfully. "None of the others could hear me…"

"Yes." Albus replied airily, fingers touched the floorboards as he leant forward, almost crawling.

"What are your names?"

"Albus Severus Potter." He introduced fumblingly, turning, "and that's Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

There was laughter from behind the glass, the fine face contorting though not un-prettily, and the sound garbled through the glass once more uncomfortably sharp on Scorpius' ears. The other Harry Potter, because he was most certainly not the Mister Potter Scorpius had come to know, not by a long shot, eased his grip on the leather and ran his eyes over them again.

"You poor boy." He murmured. "Albus is a dreadful name, but then again I supposed so is Harry, Severus is a saving grace however…and if you can carry it well it doesn't matter…Are you an only child?"

"Two siblings." Albus recited, unperturbed by the insult that stirred Scorpius' cold disposition and the conversation felt as though it had all been pre-recorded and planned, the Malfoy realized he felt as though he already lived it. "James Sirius Potter and Lily Luna Potter"

"I really do have bad taste don't I? But then…I suppose… who could ever complain…?" The other Harry Potter was tracing his bottom lip with one of those long nails and Scorpius couldn't draw his eyes away from them. "How is it that you can see me Albus-Severus? Where are you?"

"Why should we tell you exactly?" Scorpius interrupted suddenly, bothered by the ease and fluidness with which Albus was disclosing his personal information to this queer doppelganger.

The other Harry Potter smiled at him, a warning smile, and Scorpius felt the heat in his stomach subside to the same frozen pits it had spiraled to when Albus looked as though he may cry. He was unarmed, he was completely unfamiliar with that look, Mister Potter had never ever looked at anyone like that. It bothered him.

"Riddle Manor," Albus whispered, "in front of a black glass mirror."

"Aaah," he cooed, "that's it then…you're in front of the equivalent and so…Albus where's your father?"

"At home or at the ministry."

"Good." The Harry Potter nodded thoughtfully. "Where's Voldemort?"

"Dead."

The composure snapped like a tight band and there was a look of aghast horror in the pale face watching them. The nails dug into his own cheeks as he other Harry Potter covered his mouth and fought to collect himself. Something raging and cold passed over the face and the bright, bright, eyes then;

"Who?" he spat vehemently.

"You…well Dad, before I was born, about twenty four years ago."

He recoiled once more, the nervous hand slipping through his own midnight tresses, like he'd been struck. Suddenly it fell away, the torrent of painful emotions receding and pressing himself back into the chair the Other Harry Potter laughed.

"Well then…" He took a deep breath and seemed to remember himself but Scorpius was off put, the emotions in the sticky green eyes where flittering all about the place juxtaposing the stiff tension in his lips. "Do you know what you're looking at boys? It's a marvelous thing really, beautiful little vice, and it allows such splendid things to happen… Let me explain…Let me explain…"

This mirror is in the same class as the Mirror of Erised. Where that mirror shows you whatever it is you long for most this mirror shows you what _is_. That is to say, if you make the right requests, this mirror can show you anyone, anything or anywhere you want as it exists in this very moment.

It can't show you what was or what will be but it can show you everything else you could ever want to see. Very useful in scouting out traitors and enemy hideouts. Though it does have some limitations when it comes to that, it's fairly picky about wording you see…I could ask to see every Malfoy, but I would have to specify Muggle or Pureblood, living or dead, in order to ascertain the information I actually wanted.

That said the mirror has formed a paradox.

You see, it's capable of bending various strings of magic to show what you want it to show. It will show you so long as it exists. However should you ask for something that doesn't exist in your world but which does in the myriad of different _versions _of your world it will show you them. That is why I can see you now.

If one of those alternate versions should happen to have an alternate version of the mirror itself, well then it can only show you that world from that one viewpoint; it can only see what the mirror sees but it appears that if one is looking _into_ the mirror while you're looking _out_ of its equivalent you can converse.

That part I was unaware of. Until now."

"Parallel universes." Scorpius blinked, Arithmancy sprawling through his brain as it tried to digest or solidify the information it was given.

"You don't have children," Albus quirked observantly.

"No I don't." The Other Harry Potter sighed deeply, somehow insulted, the streak of bitterness evident. "Pride is not permitting in these circumstances."

"Why would you want children?" Scorpius gawked numbly, he'd never understood the appeal himself but then he'd never had much of a choice. "Dreadful fortune grabbing little monsters."

"Evidently," Harry Potter smiled, "but your own homegrown little monsters are better then little usurpers."

"You can't get a pre-nuptial agreement with children though."

"True enough, but when we're talking global politics it becomes irrelevant." The Other Harry Potter waved his hand dismissively with a twist of his and nudged their conversation along. "Tell me about the two of you? It's been so since I last had a friendly conversation."

-369-

It became routine then that Albus and Scorpius would sneak away to Riddle Manor every available oppurtunity to spend several hours conversing with the Other Harry Potter: his lordship, commander of the Death Eaters, second only to Lord Voldemort himself.

He spun them an image of his world and Albus counter-pointed it with their own much to the marvel of both.

Scorpius had began to catalogue the differences between their Mister Potter and the other world's Harry Potter and while he could see the obvious gaps and variations he still could not wrap his mind around a reason for it. He felt like a gardener in Professor Longbottom's green houses, he could see the weeds, here, there and everywhere but where exactly they were coming from he had no idea and until he could grasp the source he would be obsessed.

The Other Harry Potter was a proud Slytherin, lacked any sympathy or compassion for Muggles, and while he had a clear knowledge of the Order of the Phoenix it was apparent that he was not a member nor did Scorpius think he _ever_ had been. He was undoubtedly mad, stark raving mad, in Scorpius' personal opinion but the similarities between he and Albus in that field were enormous. The Other Harry Potter was obviously disturbed emotionally, the mood swings and violenent outbursts at irregular intervals alone bothered Scorpius and that was scratching the surface. It seemed to him also that some of these habits and trains of thought were not the product of trauma alone but some training or conditioning. He had no doubt their Voldemort had been whispering certain things in the Other Harry Potter's ears.

Still, while he was as quirked and jilted as Albus there was an undeniable charm in their 'foreign friend' that Scorpius was loathe to admit. Like their Mister Potter Scorpius could not bring himself to dislike him over the weeks he even found his caution slipping and his enjoyment growing. It was harmless enough for now. Dare he say it: it was almost…fun?

A beautiful ivory hand mirror, that led them to a another mirror which showed all that their world could've become at the hands of Voldemort and, more than that, someone who understood Albus and someone who Scorpius could hold a discussion with.

The late nights were taking their toll however.

"You really should sleep more or you'll never pass your OWLS" Nicholas chided over eggs several weeks later. "It's really not healthy for you either and not to mention I haven't a clue where you're sneaking off to or how dangerous it could be."

"No and if you tell anyone," Scorpius warned coolly, "I will remove every hair from your body, with tweezers, and use the amassed follicles to sew your mouth shut."

Nicholas' mouth in question remained open as he and Scorpius exchanged gawks and glowers too stunned to remember what lecture he was going to begin before the threat was ushered.

"Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes," Albus placed a hand sagely on Nicholas shoulder, "that way, when you do, you'll be a mile away and you'll have their shoes."

"Beautiful," Scorpius retorted. "Your poetic soul soothes even my wretched heart."

"I think you should be a rock star." Albus declared casually.

"I haven't any musical talent."

"What rock star does?" The Potter shrugged. "You have charisma. We could make a fortune off it."

"Is there no bridge in conversation between my terrible torture at Scorpius' hands and possible career choices?" Nicholas whined, "Are the two topics so closely interlinked?"

"I'm beginning to suspect so." Scorpius confirmed, aloof, returning to his tea and drinking deeply, "besides, you should be more worried about passing your exams."

"I'll be fine." The first year croaked, "I think. I could use a miracle on my Astronomy exams when they roll up however."

"I'm a vengeful god." The Malfoy shrugged. "I wouldn't hold my breath but try with Puck and you might have more luck."

"For a price." Albus cooed. "I'd expect a life time supply of Lemon Drops for my services"

"You idea of a life time supply is different to most people's" Nicholas stated matter-of-factly. "Albus I don't know how _Scorpius_ keeps you in Lemon Drops and he's loaded."

"You have to pace him." Scorpius imparted seriously. "And I'm not _loaded_. I'm a man of leisure."

"Sounds loaded to me." Nicholas dodged the back-handed swat to his cranium, he'd gotten exceptionally good at avoiding Malfoy wrath over the term, "and you should hear the rumors that are floating around about where you go! Three Hufflepuff girls cornered me on the third floor and ran me ragged with questions, the scariest thing I've ever seen!"

"Keep your voice down," Scorpius drawled warningly, "and the rumors are always the same. Either we're shagging or plotting some revolution."

Albus laughed beside him, shoulders convulsing, and pressed his forehead into the wood of the breakfast table to stifle himself. Scorpius assumed it was at the absurdity of it.

"I've never heard you say 'shagging'." The Potter gathered his forearms and elbows on the table underneath his head and quirked his eyes up, "say it again?"

"_Shagging._" Scorpius repeated, stressing the syllables slowly, drawing out the delighted laughter from Albus. "Snogging, horn-baffling, and pixie-dipping."

"Your Grandmother would be ashamed at such a scandalous tongue!"

"Yours would hit you with a spoon." The Malfoy grimaced, "That wooden one in the kitchen, ancient, splintering and hardly sanitary."

"Are you both going home for Christmas?" Nicholas queried. "My father's working, so I'm stuck here."

"Yes." Scorpius assured him with some evident satisfaction. "My Grandparents hold a Christmas Ball and Albus' have a party on the sixteenth of December for his birthday."

"You're a winter baby then Albus?" the first year smiled. "I'll make sure to drop you something before you go home for your birthday, maybe you too since I missed yours Scorpius."

"No thank you." The blonde placed down his cup and rearranged the collar of his shirt. "You can help me think of something to buy Albus if you must insist but I don't need anything."

"I still have to give him his present too." The Potter propped his chin up in his hand. "I left it at Godric's Hollow"

"Another gem of Muggle culture I'm sure." Scorpius theorized. "It's logical after the magic eight ball, that little copy of 'Dracula' in third year, the pair of jeans last year…"

"And the flannel printed pajamas, in first year, when you stayed at the Hollow."

"Ghastly but peculiarly comfortable," he reveled, "that place you took me too during the summer between second and third year scared me for life."

"The department store in London?"

"Yes, that."

"A Malfoy in flannel pajamas?" Nicholas repeated incredulously. "The printed kind?"

"Blue with stripes," Albus nodded, "mine had clouds and stars."

"That I would have to see to believe."

"There are pictures." Scorpius grumbled. "Albus has them somewhere."

"It was the first time Scorpius stayed over." The Potter shared joyously. "Mum thought a photo would be nice, didn't get around to it till late, after we got changed, because James almost broke the camera at breakfast."

"The beginning of my long and prosperous hate-hate relationship with your brother," Scorpius huffed. "I swear he did it on purpose."

"James does a lot of things but very few of them on purpose."

"That would require foresight." The Malfoy scoffed. "In which he is seriously lacking."

"He threw a Soccer ball at Scorpius' head once," Albus explained, leaning across the Malfoy slightly to maintain eye contact with an enthralled Nicholas, "we were going inside to watch a movie and he and Hugo were playing in the front yard, it knocked Scorpius right off his feet-"

"James laughed hysterically."

"-Until you got up and hexed him with chicken pox." Albus recalled happily. "He almost cried and we watched 'Practical Magic' for the rest of the night while he scratched in his room."

"Ironic really," Scorpius finished smugly. "It wasn't a bad movie either but my mother did yell when I got home. She said it was rude to hex other children."

"Didn't you get a warning letter from the ministry for under-aged magic?" Nicholas prodded.

"I'm a Malfoy." Scorpius answered bluntly. "If you grease a hand at the ministry they tend to overlook a few things."

"That can't be morally or ethically correct."

"I'm a Malfoy." Scorpius repeated.

-369-

Herbology was an intuitive science. You had to have a passion for it and somewhat of a natural knack for that sort of thing, a great deal like potions, and while Herbology was equally soothing and had it's moments of greatness and intrigue Scorpius found himself bored by it on a regular basis.

Professor Longbottom wasn't a particularly eloquent man, by any means, he was very well versed in what he was teaching and with great love for it but his passion struggled to overcome his lingering nerves on the matter of public speaking. He directed them confidently but quickly and hence did not encourage great security in the first years often. However Albus found him endearing and for that Scorpius would bite his tongue and take note of the gems of wisdom littered through his stream of speech.

He was instructing them on a singing creeper vine of some description. A treacherous weed that grew in moors, damp forests, or lake systems which would hum and lull it's victims into a comfortable sleep before encasing them and feeding off them. Scorpius was becoming quite sure there was some in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.

Albus was still, chin in hands, lips slightly ajar watching Professor Longbottom with a comfortable smile etched on his face. The Professor, Scorpius noted, would glance across the room in a sweeping motion every few phrases or so and catch that smile, upon which he would turn the slightest shade of red, stutter over what he was saying and smile back before he continued. It created the most delightful rise and fall in his quick assured speech and before long this vague source of amusement had Scorpius grinning as he shifted in his own seat.

Life was a little calmer since they had begun their involvement with the mirror and Albus' mood seemed to have lifted significantly along with the rest of his health. The nightmares were astounding less frequent and he was to Scorpius' regarding eye genuinely happy. He knew that it must have jolted his companion's confidence and self security to have his 'illness' validated. For Albus the thought that what his family called insane, and what Scorpius suspected he himself had started to believe so, held some ground, some truth, in reality sent the message more fluently then any medical report that there was _nothing_ wrong with him.

Albus was flourishing again. He had seen it once or twice before in their school career in times when Albus felt assured as he did now and had gained to drive to throw himself more fully, more fluidly, into everything he was doing. Motivation of this sort was better for Albus' health in Scorpius' opinion then anything medicine could prescribe.

Scorpius realized vainly that the last time Albus had glimmered satisfactorily like this was towards the end of their first year after a particularly tearful midnight session in an otherwise empty boy's bathroom on the first floor.

His stomach churned as it had not done for several weeks, much to his pleasure, but now stirred painfully. He sighed and his grey eyes found themselves over Albus' knuckles. He did not like scandal, he did not like unnecessary difficulties in his life where they could be avoided, he did not like failure but more than all those things he like to think he put great value in pursuing his own happiness. So swallowing up his pride and his logic and all thoughts of what may come back to haunt him if someone were to notice, he tapped the back of Albus' knuckles with his index finger.

Albus lowered his hands, forearms resting suddenly on the desk and tilted towards him inquisitively, leaning forward he pushed his nose under a few of the midnight tresses and whispered in his ear.

"Hold my hand?"

Why he asked he didn't know, why he enjoyed it he didn't know, but he did.

Albus smiled both hands slipping gracefully and naturally into his lap as though simply part of a fidgeting gesture and moved one hand to curl with Scorpius'.

"So who knows why it took so long for the Mimbulus Flitterbloom took so long to be properly identified?" Professor Longbottom put forward for the sake of conveying his point. "Yes Albus?"

"Well because it's rather difficult to identify a plant if you're asleep." Albus explained humorlessly, "and not many insomniacs go wandering about in marshes."

"Ah-I-well…" He took a moment to collect himself. "No, no, Albus, that's not quite the answer I'm looking for…Anyone else?"

It never was. Albus was a little much for the faint of heart. Scorpius raised his own hand, his free hand, eloquently and Professor Longbottom gestured to him rather enthusiastically.

"Yes Scorpius? What do you think?"

"Commonly confused as a type of Devil's Snare." He recited lazily, but not cruelly, his thumb running back and forth over the back of Albus' palm under the table.

"Yes! Yes!" The man nodded, "that's exactly right"

* * *

(1) If someone does happen to know any official birthday information regarding Albus and Scorpius I would be fascinated to know. If anyone would have suggested different dates I'd be just as interested to hear why.  
(2) "Rapunzel" by Emilie Autumn ("Gentlemen Aren't Nice" and "Marry Me" kept me sniggering~)  
(3) "What's the Use of Wondering" by Amanda Palmer used last chapter, as I have been informed since, is actually a _cover _of "What's the Use of Wondering" from the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical "Carousel". You learn something, or multiple somethings, new every day. Sorry for that!  
(4) I received an interesting review last time asking, among other things, the valid question- do I hate Ginny? If any one else has wondered the same: no, I promise you I do not. It's just that well...Scorpius, as you've probably noticed, is a little subjective in what he tells you (if you hadn't noticed he's terrible for misleading you dear honest soul!).

A wondrous Giftmas wish and thank you, again, to TeamAbodo who was kind enough to beta read this chapter with coloured annotations~ My sporadic attention span was greatly appeased.

As always: theories, questions, or just plain ol' Disney-Classic style reviews are welcomed and encouraged.

Now then, through a looking glass into a new year?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Yes, this chapter is quite late but it's here if nothing else!

Unfortunately my lovely Beta has been incredibly busy with this peculiar thing called college/university/learning prison so she wasn't able to completely edit this chapter which left the rest to me and…well… I was lazy- Ha! No! Alright, truthfully? I was kidnapped by ninjas and taken to Mardi Gras (one of those things may however be a lie).

* * *

Chapter 4: "Flying off the Handle"

"How is the…dull little slimy one?" The Other Harry Potter queried languidly, gesticulating,

from the leather arm chair he was perched on.

"Nicholas?" Scorpius responded. "Continuing to fill my days with agony in the wake of the

immense tedium of his very presence."

"You're venom is simply charming," the Other Harry laughed drolly, "what about that boy

you don't like?"

"There's a selection."

"The red headed whelp?"

"Hugo ate so much before his recent Astronomy session there was some kind of…" Scorpius paused thoughtfully.

"Projectile vomiting?" Albus supplied, gazing up from where he lay sprawled contentedly, half across the rug and half within the confines of Scorpius' lap.

"Something to that effect, yes."

"I never could stand other teenagers," the Other Harry admitted. Looking as poised as Scorpius had come to expect, forever teetering on his lightning shifts in mood, nails rapping against the arm rest.

"I don't understand why one should," the Malfoy sighed, "those we engage with are good for very little except perhaps kindling."

"It's almost depressing to know that even in a _parallel universe_ puberty is terrible," Albus murmured lightly, much to Scorpius' silent agreement, pressing a button of hard yellow candy to his lips in the fire light.

He was unsure entirely of how best to voice himself around this Harry Potter. Scorpius experienced in his life very little interest in his day to day activities from those adults surrounding him and hardly cared in the matter. More disconcerting was the very existence of this being parallel to the Mister Potter his knew and those subtle unavoidable, subliminal, differences. The perfect black robes, the graceful and erratic gestures of the mad man, the bruised pale fingers and the slight wraith like body with two Avada Kedavra eyes glowing in the firelight of Riddle Manor contrasted with the images and memories contained within his mind. There was an innate wrongness in the peculiarities juxtaposed against the Other Harry's familiar face and voice. Still there was a segment of him which enjoyed these peaceful interactions, the attention and focus he received, the relaxed quality of Albus' sprawled body and the light smile ever present on his companion's lips.

"Do you have lemon drop mines in your world?" Albus questioned jovially, inclining his slightly raised head towards the Other Harry.

"Somewhere, I'm sure," the Other Harry deadpanned with such absolute certainty Scorpius felt his lips quick upwards. "Considering the amount I've seen you consume, I'm certain they fall from the sky in yours."

"My wallet actually," Scorpius corrected.

"Oh Voldermort's knickers!" Albus cried, tossing himself up, stumbling to his feet.

"I beg your pardon?" the Other Harry floundered with the most stunned expression Scorpius had ever seen etched on his face. "What did he just say?"

"It's a common turn of phrase really," the blonde answered, with a bubble of contained amusement, "all the cool kids are doing it."

Albus was gathering up their possessions quietly, fumbling about the dark quarters of the Manor, as elongating his neck from his rather regal position on the rug by the fire Scorpius watched.

"Is something wrong?"

"We have to go back through the looking glass," Albus explained, glancing back to him, jutting his lower lip detestably. "It's almost morning."

"I suppose so," Scorpius conceded raising himself, calves tingling at the rapid return of circulation now free of Albus' insistent and warm weight against them.

"I'm sorry," the littlest Potter sighed somewhat, gazing towards the stiff backed Other Harry. "We're late for a very important date."

"You'll see me again," the Other Harry promised, a hint of formality creeping into his voice only evident enough for notice because Scorpius had never heard its likeness in the ramblings of Mister Potter. "Till next time children."

"Are you very busy?" Albus enquired, "we take up more time than an inquiry at the Ministry."

"No," he assured them, standing to part, the waves of the mirrors surface rippling. Chuckling to himself, he imparted, "I'm just off to my weekly inspection of Voldemort's knickers."

"That must be a dangerous profession." Albus giggled as, carefully, Scorpius observed the relatively genuine quality in the Other Harry's upturned lips.

The Other Harry seemed somewhat strained in his gestures and in his speech. There was a frittering laugh, cracked and somewhat off-key, disturbing to they ear but thoughtless and real. Scorpius wavered between comforted and suspicious in the depths or lack thereof of the Other Harry's sanity.

As his thoughts rearranged themselves the vision departed back to the mysterious place from whence it came and they were once more left with themselves and the softly breaking light clawing its way through the dirty windows.

-369-

Scorpius hadn't the slightest inclination or desire to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts involved at its very core that which was the figurative thorn in his side: socializing. At eleven he could think of nothing worse than other children.

He observed the world from its center. He was, he fathomed, as a pureblood, a Malfoy and an only child the very pinnacle of the known universe as it stood. In his life thus far it was a perfectly reasonable expectation after all. He'd spent most of his early childhood between expensive hotels, ski holidays, trips to London and abroad or wrapped up in the imposing and isolating grasp of Malfoy Manor. Most of his time he had wasted, delightfully, alone and diligently assuring he didn't make a mess on or around the antiques or, heaven forbid, himself.

He was perhaps a little too compulsive to truly amalgamate with other children. His Grandfather said he had a 'natural sense of superiority' and despite the face his father pulled his Grandfather seemed convinced it was a good thing. Scorpius was rather confused by the whole affair but as long as a 'natural sense of superiority' didn't involve any play dates or sleepovers it was perfectly acceptable.

When he conceded, with little fussing but a great deal of irritable sighing and contemptuous glancing, to attend the school he was not at all excited about it. He planted himself in carriage thirty-six of the Hogwarts express therefore with a sullen expression and a very unfriendly demeanor. There were stragglers, cautious floundering first years like himself only in designation, who passed the glass of his tank like ugly fish in an aquarium. Dull, uninteresting and he concluded from their squinting, their flushed complexions and their dirty cheeks, totally beneath him.

The first hour of his trip passed essentially without incident. There was a group of third year Hufflepuff girls who smiling and twittering asked if they could sit in the compartment and seemed suddenly affronted when the little blonde first year told them _no_. Scorpius had become quite content in his seating sprawled, gracefully mind you, across the red leather when without warning the door slid open with a clatter and throwing himself in some boy slammed the screen shut behind him.

He appeared somewhat surprised when twisting on his heels he came face to face with Scorpius' unimpressed glower. The boy wavered in his stance, sniffling, eyes pink and uncomfortably puffy like a new pale species of blowfish.

"And you are?" Scorpius sighed.

"Hiding from an angry mob," he responded seriously. "There's a screaming nargle in a Gryffindor uniform leading the armies of hell against me."

So with a bang, a sniff, flustering and urgent, Albus had implanted himself in Scorpius' sphere. Too bemused to remove him from the carriage, to know how to speak to him at all, was the simple beginning of a much bigger problem.

Next thing he knew Albus was fluttering torn between joy and horror to take a seat at the Slytherin table and without a question or a glance placed himself next to Malfoy. Then they were sharing a dorm room somehow with two unpleasant creatures called Zabini and Bulstrode. The next day Albus was beside him at breakfast and in the first class of their perfectly matching timetables. He was present every time Scorpius turned around, without any resistance or argument from the Malfoy himself, despite Scorpius' blunt insistence to many of the other students that he was in no way interested in having friends.

They didn't speak and yet they gravitated. Scorpius allowed the Potter to follow him about and if he had taken much time to consider it he would've questioned why but failed take up the challenge.

Scorpius even then didn't ponder his actions, his thoughts or his muted feelings very deeply. He lacked the time or the patience for introspection of any meaningful variety. It was to him such pointless pandering he instead chose to glide through his days briskly and without ever feeling uncomfortably involved. He didn't question it then, in the slightest, when waking at midnight one Tuesday evening he found Albus missing and chose to investigate.

He rolled, arching his spine and stretching his arms out before him, cropped blonde locks tussling over his face as gazing sleepily into the night he regarded the cot beside him. He perceived, not all at once but rather in progression, the meandering lankness of the sheets tumbling over the side of the mattress and the blank white of the pillow staring back at him. He rose, onto his elbows, before groaning and heaving his heavy body out of the warm confines of his bed to wander into the dorm lounge, then up the stairs and into the corridors.

It was Scorpius' first attempt at sneaking and he strode so dismissively it was a miracle all its own no one spotted his pale little body traipsing through the hallways and staircases. His subconscious couldn't comprehend why or what Albus Potter would be doing out in the middle of the night but was certain he needed to cease that very second and get back the dungeons.

He found the scrawny boy in a third floor bathroom, blubbering over a sink, convulsing in great heaving motions as thick tears bubbled down his hot cheeks. In the middle of the night, on a Tuesday, at eleven Scorpius was once more rendered uncomfortable by Albus Potter.

"What are you doing?"

"Wondering if y-you can die f-from crying too much," he spluttered around his uncooperative constricting throat muscles, bouncing his Adams apple in tiny whining hiccups, "c-cause if I cry anymore I think I might."

"I'm surprised you don't leak lemon drops." Scorpius murmured apathetically. Yawning loudly, groan echoing off the tiled walls, instinctively manners drove him to raise his hand in a vain attempt to cover his gaping mouth before the sound had already faded.

"I-I'm as surprised as y-you," Albus assured him between his whimpering.

"Why on earth are you making so much noise to begin with?" He interrogated dully, pressing the small of his back into the rim of the aging hospital white sink.

"B-because it's j-just as bad here," came the response, "everyone s-still thi-inks I'm weird and it's getting worse! I don't kn-know what's wrong with me!"

"You sound like a screaming nargle," Scorpius replied.

There was a strange contorted giggle amongst the blubbering.

"R-really?"

"No," he scoffed, "you sound like three."

"You s-still remember that?"

"It's burned into the back of my mind," he admitted, "at least you're more original than the other snivelers here, it's almost charming, in an entirely _preposterous_ way of course."

"I-I'm surprised you listened," Albus sobbing became weak, rubbing furiously at his burning tear ducts with the back of his palm, groping for some kind of off switch.

"You say such odd things its hard not to." Scorpius shrugged thoughtlessly. "You don't speak with great frequency regardless. I'm always expecting you to say something and you just look at me."

"Should I?"

"You might as well," he replied, "it's not like people can think you're any stranger now is it? I don't see why you care so much."

"Cause," Albus hiccupped, straightening his slouch to stand, starring into the glass of the mirror, "I'm lonely, I guess, I wouldn't mind s-so much what people thought if I wasn't"

"Ridiculous," Scorpius groaned, crossing his arms petulantly, shifting his weight to one foot in a manner entirely unbefitting him. "People are utterly stupid. It's a genetic condition. You're blathering like a melting mermaid because they don't like you?"

"I-I wish I was normal sometimes," he whispered honestly, "I just can't help it."

"There is nothing more sickeningly dull." Scorpius informed him, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "if you must be normal fine but you had better not bother me anymore if you are."

Just like that in his almost cruel, petulant and distinctly proud manner he gave Albus permission to be Albus whilst in his own way he supposed staked some claim to the other's companionship. He didn't realize it of course, not then anyway, he didn't think much of it but he was distinctly pleased when the other boy stopped shaking and whispering so feverishly.

"I won't try to be normal then," Albus promised, "I'm sorry."

"Good," Scorpius snapped, "no more of this nonsensical stupidity. Come on, my feet are cold and this floor is doubtlessly filthy, we are going back to the dorms. I'm going to be positively livid if I have to come reclaim you from a bathroom again. You can cry in the dungeons for goodness sake, then I can keep an eye on you, without traipsing round the corridors"

"There are biting fairies in the dungeons. I feel like they're eavesdropping on me."

"Then I'll hex them." Scorpius declared clutching at Albus' upper arm to tug him briskly along. "I hate busybodies."

-369-

"I can't wait to see it," Nicholas buzzed about the beds, "really, it's going to be simply spectacular… troublesome business all these other matches, though the one against Ravenclaw was very good of course-"

"If you insist on existing so very loudly," Scorpius groaned, "I suggest you help Albus find his knee pads. _You_ may very well be needing them in a moment."

"You're awfully sour this morning Scorpius," the boy frittered, unabashed by the curious glare the Malfoy was casually shooting him over his shoulder, as he hunched into his trunk. Bundling up the pile of pads for himself Scorpius placed them on the bed as Nicholas crawled across the mattress towards Albus' squirming body under the wooden frame of the bed. "Any luck yet Al?"

"I'm beginning to fear for the worst," He sighed. Head ducking up over the edge of the mattress to meet Nicholas' inquisitive gaze and the first year frowned sympathetically.

"I'm sure we'll find them. Where else could they be?"

Scorpius slumped his shoulders catching Nicholas' gaze with a look of unbridled cynicism.

"I suppose that's not the best question?"

"All things considered they could be in an alternate dimension!" Scorpius snapped, Albus' giggles sounding hysterically from where he had once again burrowed beneath the bed. "Lord knows Albus' organizational skills are nothing if not imaginative."

"Yes well that is true," the youngest smiled, "but they can't have gone that far. Unless you fell down any rabbit holes?"

"No, not recently," Albus assured Nicholas, muffled under the heavy quilting hanging down about him, "Scorpius do you think I left them in the catacombs? Or with Emperor- Aha!"

"Eureka?"

"Marco and Polo have been defeated!" Albus proclaimed, bubbling back to the surface, thick padding prized between his fingers.

"Soundly and thoroughly!" Nicholas agreed delightfully.

Scorpius hated to admit it but the little scraggly runt leeching off their social life had become rather adept at understanding their duo. He had begun to master Albus' peculiar speech, Scorpius' manners and high expectations and he was even becoming acclimatized to Xavier's erratic habitual stupidity. It had been quite sometime since any creature had buried themselves so deeply into Scorpius' social circle and while even he was beginning to soften to the boy's eagerness to please and budding cunningness he did not like the understanding developing between the runt and Albus. Tapping his fingers across the lid of his trunk thoughtfully Scorpius plotted in passing how best to sufficiently throttle Nicholas to his contentment.

Sighing Scorpius rose, turning, and lowering himself to rest on the lid of his trunk and begin arranging his padding. He refastened his boots, strapping the pads tightly, till his shoulders and elbows ached from the wrapping bands encompassing his arms. Albus fell down beside him with a thump, trunk bumping and rattling under the sudden weight, to begin donning his own gear.

"Is there anything I can do?" Nicholas prodded, behind them, still settled squatting on the mattress.

"Boots. Bed." Scorpius chided, irritated, the twitching in his fingers driving him to claim Albus' pads and fasten them himself around bony elbow and the knobby knee alike. "Do try not to get hit by the bludgers won't you?" He insisted, "James' aim has improved."

"They don't hurt that much," the Potter shrugged.

"Scorpius are you sure you got enough sleep for the match?" The first year intervened once again, "I mean you're awfully cranky today, well…more so than usual and that's quite a lot-"

"_Yes_."

"…Righty-o then"

-369-

It was getting much too cold for Quidditch.

The wind was whipping up, swaying the top of the posts and rocking Scorpius on his broom. Fingers twitching along the wood they ached in the cold, numbed almost, as he squinted through his hair. It was tied back but in this weather he required a braid however attempting to do such now would no doubt land him on the ground bellow or hit square in the face with a bludger. James was circling much too high in the wind, like a great gold and scarlet vulture, no doubt freezing off the last of his brain cells as he rallied up the jeering Gryffindor crowd.

Zabini's commentary was eclipsed by the chanting and Scorpius' view of the players by the wind and the heavy grey sky falling around them. Flexing his fingers along the handle of his broomstick out of something of a nervous habit Scorpius wet his lips and waited.

The quaffle was being tossed about up the other end of the field, Hugo causing a great commotion amongst their chasers while James hung back above, straying closer to Scorpius. James hung around like a bad smell, casual but insistent, almost unintentional in its strategy: he'd stay back, stay quiet, beat the wandering bludger back towards Hugo so he had fire power amidst the rabble until the quaffle approached the Slytherin end of the field. Where upon Hugo would send the nearest bludger to him and Scorpius would find himself batting off balls and bludgers.

The strategy was almost underhanded in its brilliance of simplicity. It had cost Scorpius a new broom in third year too and James was proficient at it. He wondered occasionally, from the way James held himself out of the action in their games to aim solely at his head, if the eldest Potter hated him. It was no secret he and James adamantly disliked each other but he was unsure if there was a more intimate personal loathing for him from the golden child. He'd like to think he'd corrupted James' conscience so far but he didn't much appreciate the consequences.

It was not going well down field. There was a clang: the thunderous sound of bludger bouncing off ring, Scorpius was uncomfortably familiar with, followed by the softer whoosh of Quaffle through hoop. There was a clamorous groan from Gryffindor, a holler of triumph from Slytherin and a hysterical cackle from Xavier over the speakers.

"And so, Gryffindor is _again_ overcome by Slytherin's mastery of opposable digits!" He jeered, "it seems they've neglected teaching their keeper to _catch_ this season! That is going to cost them-"

Over the din of hysterics and howling from the various houses Scorpius perceived the bludger Hugo hurled overhead to James long before he caught sight of his teammates turning back towards him.

"-Looks like Bertram has the quaffle and he's heading back towards Malfoy! His aptitude for gross motors skills being far superior to Gryffindor's keeper he's in with a fighting chance!"

Scorpius' eyes flittered between Bertram and James. Above him Hugo closed in and the pair were currently batting the bludger between themselves, waiting for Bertram's attempt at scoring to direct the iron towards Scorpius.

"-Albus is off!"

Scorpius cursed Xavier excitable prater in the commentator's box bitterly. Bertram took the opportunity to make his shot, catching the blonde's attention, while above Hugo and James flickered, faltered, suddenly. As Scorpius batted the quaffle aside into the waiting arms of a Slytherin chaser below him the crowd sounded an uproar, cheers and jeers warping suddenly as-

"Looks like Albus is going for the Snitch and-" Xavier caught himself, changing tangent, "_Blimey!_"

The crowd let out a unified gasp, a collective moan, and Scorpius twisting caught the sight of Albus tumbling across the sludge of the field. The crowd was buzzing now, gossiping, booing, cheering, and groaning as the players stalled still in the air.

"_Hugo Weasley that was a cheap shot!"_ Zabini roared across the aging speakers.

Hugo was already in the mud beside Albus when Scorpius hit the turf after him. James approaching before him, Bulstrode was lowering behind him, several players lingering in the air as Scorpius trudged through the thickened grass to Albus' hunched figure. Albus rose, staggering uncertainly, blood trickling in heavy thick streams from his nose. It ran down over his lips and pale chin, brilliant vermillion against his flushed skin and coughing he whipped the dirt from his cheeks.

"Bugger me Al!" Hugo cried, laughing jovially, "you took a hard fall there!"

"Don't laugh at me!" the Potter snapped suddenly, almost bursting at the seams, eyes fixated on the paling redhead as fingers curling into claws he lunged for Hugo.

There was a loud shocked cry from the spectators and claves pounding Scorpius drove himself forwards faster across the field. Less than ten feet away Geoffrey Bulstrode beat him to it, arms hooking round Albus' waist and torso to heave the kicking, squirming, howling body of his comrade off the sprawled Gryffindor. Prone on the ground Hugo coughed up dirt and muddy water, hair tangled with clumps of earth, body indenting the soil around him. James was tugging Hugo up by his forearm and pulling him straight as he converged on the scene. Hot on their heels, panting, throat burning, Scorpius rounded Bulstrode with heavy feet to try and catch Albus' still flailing arms as they beat the air.

"Geeze Al!" the eldest Potter half snarled, "calm down! You don't need to go nuts!"

"_I'm not crazy!_" He shrieked twisting against Bulstrode's grip and Scorpius watched with abject horror while screeching Albus burst into tears. He convulsed, sobbing hysterically.

"Yeah well you sure act like it!"

"_I'm __**not**__ crazy!_" The youngest repeated desperately, kicking, the remaining players beginning to descend around them "_I'm not! I'm not! I'm not!"_

Something inside Scorpius twisted, cold and sharp in his chest, burning. Whirling he caught James' eye. In that second, eyes flickering from Albus to Scorpius, the Malfoy could feel the certainty in the eldest Potter, he could practically taste it, he could see what James saw: a straight jacket.

So Scorpius hit him.

"_Bloody hell!_" Zabini cried, mouth agape, from the commentator's booth as the Malfoy's clenched fist connected hard against James' tightened jaw.

James' head spun stunned stupid momentarily giving Scorpius window enough to smash his fist against his cheek a second time and force the Gryffindor from his feet before the surrounding players dragged him back.

-369-

Albus and Scorpius were removed from the game. Their subsequent detentions, Scorpius felt, were a small price to pay for the earth-shatteringly satisfying, albeit brief, beating he finally got to dole out to James.

"You were brilliant" Nicholas cheered as their little quintette strode back towards the dormitory.

"I don't think Score's ever hit anyone in his life!" Zabini chuckled.

"Much too composed for such nonsense."

"Then why'd you do it?" the first year sounded.

"Because he deserved it."

"Bloody right he did," Xavier concurred, "gits taking a shot at Al like that! Should've known Scorp'd beat them in for it."

Beside Scorpius Albus rubbed distantly at the dried blood staining his face, crackling like paint chips, unnervingly quiet. The blonde looped their arms as he always had, Albus' hand sitting limply in the crook of his elbow, and on his opposing side Nicholas let his own fingers latch hesitantly onto the older boy's sleeve. The burn within Scorpius was still lacerating the inside of his stomach as his eyes wandered over Albus, Nicholas, Xavier and Geoffrey.

"We're going to the prefect's bathroom," he announced, boots scrapping as they mounted the slope and crossed the cobbled courtyard.

"Won't we get in trouble?" Nicholas murmured attentively.

"Oh we already are!"

"He's got a point," Zabini agreed.

"In for a penny in for a pound?" Geoffrey sounded.

"More than that," the blonde snapped, "we're bloody Slytherins. It's time to start acting like it."

Zabini gave a triumphant cheer.

Scorpius admitted, quietly, to himself that hated the look on Albus' face. He hated the image of him crying that was replaying in his mind, he hated the blood down his chin, he hated the silence, he hated the loud mouth urchins that had started it…

In the last five years he'd never really gotten physical with anyone or anything. Nicholas had gotten a whack or two this last term, true, but not like today. It had been so provincial of Scorpius to throw a punch. His father would be amazed and no doubt embarrassed at the unlikely turn of events. Of course his father knew very well they broke the rules in private but like all Malfoy misdeeds it was done in_ private_ and Scorpius had never been given a detention for physical violence in his life.

He was restrained, he was cunning, he was above it all… but he'd never seen Albus cry like that. In first year, when they were young and more vulnerable he'd caught many a tear but nothing like the hysteria and the desperation he encountered today. Albus was in pain and by the sounds of his screams this afternoon he'd been aching for quite some time. Scorpius, despite everything, wasn't sure what he should do. He was crumbling with uncertainty. Albus was aching and he was floundering.

James really thought Albus was 'unhealthy', Rose and Missus Potter did to a degree as well… Albus was surrounded and it seemed so stupid to Malfoy that he was the only one to see the sheer brilliance of his creativity. There was method in the madness, a quirk, a skill, restraint…Albus wasn't crazy, he was just…Albus, and there was something _wonderful_ about that.

His dreams after all had been right perhaps a real gift was underlying his peculiarities. There felt now, more than ever, as though there might be a reason for it all, something Albus couldn't help, something natural, something greater than madness. Scorpius supposed they could never tell the Potters that.

Would it make them think him more at risk? Dreams about a world where Voldemort ruled couldn't be a good sign. Yet Albus and Scorpius knew that he was right, that his dreams weren't just violent fantasies. It dawned suddenly on Scorpius how enraging it must feel, to be so trapped, to be so certain and yet helpless to defend your self. This afternoon now made greater sense than it had before and he intended to do something about it.

The sun was just setting. The game perhaps was still going or had finished as they'd entered the school most probably. Either way Gryffindor had likely snatched a victory against their substitute seeker and keeper to generate some joy to counteract the embarrassment of James and Hugo's encounters. James was probably nursing his wounds amongst a gaggle of fawning girls whilst calling Scorpius all manner of names and most prominently insane or queer or both.

The light through the stain glass windows of the prefects' bathroom however was casting a pale rainbow like glow over the porcelain and marble of the room. It made Scorpius forget the mounting winter outside amongst the warm steam. The bubbling baths were like giant cauldrons and the twittering glass mermaids pleasant to the ear but most importantly alongside him he caught Albus' soft smile smoldering back to life.

"Somewhere over the rainbow," he whispered meekly, voice cracking over a cough, hand squeezing Scorpius' upper arm gently and the five of them sprawled out around the room.

Zabini was the first to start tossing aside his robes, much to Nicholas' dismay, he'd never really been one to fear public nudity. After all he made an ass of himself regularly. Robes tossed across the floor he casually sunk into the bath, cocking his head over his shoulder smugly at the vermillion first year.

Awkward gazes were exchanged between Geoffrey and Nicholas and sighing Scorpius began to likewise disrobe. With his silent encouragement the pair followed instinctively to slip off their sodden clothing heading for the bath where Zabini was currently lounging like a Roman patriarch. As Scorpius stood proud, bare, face relaxed and blank, pulling his hair free Geoffrey with some hesitant blushing caught as long a glance as he could steal without seeming ridiculously rude. Scorpius was unbothered by the masked lewdness of Bulstrode's infatuation and let his hands rise reflexively to assist Albus in pulling his heavy wet jumper over his head. Albus shook his head, tresses rearranging themselves, shrugging it off. Shoulders slumping he continued peeling the damp uniform off languidly as Scorpius stood waiting, his body somewhat eclipsing Albus' from the bath, unabashed.

Albus hardly took notice of Scorpius' naked form, or his waiting, or even his casual and ponderous stare. They'd simply become too accustom to each other. Scorpius had seen him in various states of undress over the years and they'd slept pressed together many nights. He was familiar with Albus' body though he'd never quite seen it in its entirety. His skin was oddly stark but soft, downy limbs supple, joints bony, clavicle, hips, and shoulder bones pronounced. Albus' hair too seemed darker, thicker, in contrasting it to the rest of him… Scorpius rather fancied it, barring of course the blood still staining his chin stubbornly.

"Are there really mermaids in the lake?" Nicholas queried sometime later as they sat soaking in the scented mass of bubbles. Scorpius could feel the smaller legs swinging in the water and rolling his head back against his shoulders threw his arms over the rim of the bath silently.

"Dad said there are," Albus murmured, cupping a sparkling pile of foam in-between his fingers for closer inspection.

"Well something gave me that hickey third year," Zabini piped up.

"You could've gotten it before you fell into the lake you know," Geoffrey suggested playfully.

"Well I don't remember! I'm still trying to figure out how I ended up hairless! Though Angus Dorkin's is probably a kinky bugger."

"It's sad to say that's probably the closest you'll ever come to a religious experience," Malfoy chided lazily.

"You're a religious experience Scorp," he countered with ease, "I mean you certainly act divine."

"If you say so then I'm God's gift to fools."

"Patron saint of madmen," Albus added.

"King of the Village Idiots," Zabini grinned, eyebrows wiggling under Scorpius' bored glower.

"Your self-introspection points to the terribly obvious."

"I'm assuming that was a very wordy way of saying: I know you are but what am I?"

Nicholas laughed, lyrically, creating an _almost_ pleasant sound.

There was a moment of surprising peace in the quiet confines of the prefects' bathroom with the soft banter and the laughing. It was all so deliriously juvenile. Sneaking into bathrooms, a scandalous display of disregard for school rules, to bathe and gossip about foolish nothingness seemed like something James would do or the young Mister Potter or even, dare he say it, his Grandfather and Father…

Scorpius had always tried to avoid such rampant camaraderie, too much personal socialization seemed beneath him but he found himself really rather enjoying the moment of maddened silliness. This was perhaps some feature of his life he'd yet to appreciate, something of adolescence he'd never grasped but perhaps should attempt to.

After an hour or so Xavier and Geoffrey had excused themselves for dinner, Nicholas too was eventually coaxed away by the promise of protein, till left alone it returned once more to the blissful singularity of Albus' company as he was accustomed to.

The sky had darkened in turn dulling the light within the bathroom to an almost eerie play of shadows across the fixtures. The bubbles too were beginning to disperse and eventually seen to dissipate all together on the surface of the lukewarm water. The pool bellow the surface was now darkened however compensating the lack of foam but Scorpius could still regard a great portion of Albus' and his own body under the water. Swaying in the swell Albus gave a soft stroke to sit beside him, shoulders bumping, and as his finger tips touched Albus' opposing shoulder, arm thrown over the rim of the bath, he mused how wrinkled his digits had become. Albus rested his head upon Scorpius' shoulder, his hands falling in his own lap, pale bare legs curling underneath him on the curved porcelain seat as Scorpius noted something interesting about the play of skin on skin.

He considered the necessary action of removing themselves from the water they'd already lingered too long in. Scorpius felt however a not entirely uncommon rush of concern for Albus' feelings in the moment. Squeezing his arm firmly round the narrow shoulders, in contemplative acknowledgement of his desire not to make the other teen feel rejected, in his need to leave the pool.

"I feel as though we should go smoother some kind of food group in chocolate after today's fiasco," Scorpius suggested.

"Delicious and nutritious"

The Potter concurred, making no vague gesture of any kind to remove his weight from Scorpius. The Malfoy felt that perhaps he was needed tonight Scropius' sense of compassion having developed somewhat from his petulant childhood. Letting his cheek lie against the damp plush of Albus' hair beneath his chin Scorpius found himself wetting his lips.

"Come on Al," he whispered, rolling his shoulders, "it's colder than my Mother's disposition."

Their gear had dried significantly in the humid bathroom and the afternoon light intensified through the stained glass. Their clothes were caked in a dusty layer of solidified mud unfortunately. Scorpius was loathe to resume wearing dirty clothing after being soaked so thoroughly but there was little option in the matter blood stained jerseys or not. He found however, with proud satisfaction, traces of blood along the knuckles of his gloves. Which, although the flesh of the knuckles themselves was bruised and no doubt his sloppy hit rather ineffective, filled him with a enough pleasure to don them again. Albus was, he realized as he pulled the thick cotton of his uniform over his head, stalling beside him thumbs rubbing along the white letter emblazed on the fabric of his jersey.

The Potter glanced cautiously towards him, he was rather reserved this evening, eyes dull and twisting nearer made to speak:

"Ah…"

"Yes?" Scorpius responded eagerly.

"Can I…" Albus laughed, "is it alright if I have a hug?"

"Of course," he assured the smaller boy before he really heard the question. At the moment he would likely give Albus the skin off his back if it would help their despicable situation.

It worked, a little, there was a twinkle in Albus' eyes which was pleasing even if Scorpius hadn't the slightest inclination as to how to appropriately hug someone. The other teen seemed to understand his faltering attempt, as he half extended his arms uncertainly, and pressing forth slipped his own bare arms round Scorpius' waist. Albus' hands ran up, fingertips of opposing hands brushing, palms resting between the blonde's shoulder blades. Albus' transformed, the tension in his taunt exposed muscles evaporating, as he buried his face in Scorpius' clavicle.

Scorpius was hardly aware of how underdressed his companion was, juxtaposed by his own current cotton-clad stance, until he uncertainly made an effort to wrap his arms around the smaller form. His fine aristocratic chin resting on the dark hair, arms hesitantly about his waist and shoulders he frowned. Scorpius was familiar to a degree with their stance and positioning in dance but not like this. They did not believe in a great deal of physical affection in the Malfoy household. This was unlike the casual sprawling of Albus against him, being so deliberate, it was foreign.

After a brief siesta Albus pulled away, wet skin clinging to Scorpius as if reluctant to withdraw completely, mind against matter so to speak. There was a tingle, a drop in temperature as the separation reformed that constant rift of physical space between them, that Malfoy put down the air fluctuating within the Prefects' Bathroom.

"I wonder a little," Albus whispered, hunched over as he handled his clothing, the ridges of his spine almost visible, "what it would be like to live in the other world."

-3-6-9-

They were celebrating under the full moon.

It was a wild event, not at all uncommon but very undignified in the opinion of several of the purebloods. Wine flowing, bonfires burning, wolves howling and witches dancing the composure tended to ebb away eventually.

Bellatrix was in a haphazard state of undress, aging and sagging, with a reckless abandon that still brought Harry to peals of cackling laughter. He tumbled, crashing into the grass, dragging up his bruised knees and tossing his head back into the murmuring mass of gnats. Sleazy and Greasy, the appropriately titled Lucius and Snape, were as unendingly pretentious and stiff as the first moment Harry met them and were currently standing to one side of the event which they were expected to attend.

Harry flexed his bare toes in the earth, digging dirt under his toenails as he twisted his heels, lying on his back and gazing at the clear stars completely unabated by filthy Muggle light. His fingers were sticky from the food, mind hazy and buzzing, as he ran them through his hair breathing in the crisp evening air. He could not completely give himself up the very primal swell of the night head still too full. Even with his sparse clothing in disarray, fractions of skin exposed, he was very aware of the weight of Merope's locket round his neck and the grumbling coming not only from it but his scar.

Rolling onto his stomach he forced himself up onto his elbow's to scan the darkness of the scenery and kicking off the ground saunter back to where Voldemort sat. The greenish tinge to his skin was lessened in the firelight, taunt chin in long skeletal fingers, as Harry draped his arms round the stiff shoulders. He was almost like stone; cold.

"You're thinking too much," he whispered.

"I'm not in the mood for this particular giddy little pastime," was the almost brutally toned response, he was in another of his dark unreachable phases of contemplation that failed to alleviate at all under Harry's touch.

Hand straying over his clavicle, under the thin fabric across his chest, Harry buried his face in the unfriendly shoulder. He hissed, parseltongue melting off his tongue, into the man's lightly pointed ears.

"_I've found a way," _he confided, feeling the shift in muscle underneath him, "_to make this all better." _

"_Oh?_" Voldemort hissed inquisitively.

"_I promise." _He murmured. "_I need your help dealing with the technicalities"_

-3-6-9-

"Another glorious victory!" Xavier jeered, gesturing exuberantly, "give it up Malfoy!"

"I," Scorpius began, extending his gallon heavy hand, "can lose for the continuation of our time together and I will _still_ have more money to boast than either of you."

"Bah!" Zabini snorted, pocketing his winnings, "perhaps, but I'm taking Bulstrode's shoes next. You're almost out Geoffrey."

"I still have four limbs and my youth," the other retorted, "all moderately unused unlike your lanky behind."

"And still not worth very much."

"You want to go for a round Albus?" Bulstrode queried, "you can take some of the heat off me before I get boiled down for glue and have my tongue sold for dog biscuits"

"No thank you," he answered, leaning back against the frosted window of the train while his eyes flickered over the pages of the latest edition of the Quibbler. "I don't even have any marbles left to wager."

"Stop stalling," Scorpius snapped, "I'm attempting to extract my revenge."

"I feel like I'm doing a good thing for the world you know," Xavier taunted, "least this way you have less funds for you evil army."

"You don't pay revolutionaries."

"Malfoys don't pay anybody if they can help it."

"The chance to aid us in our endeavors should be reward enough," he replied causally, dealing the deck across their laps, a quartet of cards straddling his thighs, "you'd be lucky to be the filling in our Christmas pies."

"Zabini: feeding the whole family!"

"May result in high blood pressure," the blonde scoffed as he contemplated his hand.

Zabini made quick work of the next round parting Scorpius with another handful of sickles and Geoffrey with both his shirt and his dignity in one fowl swop.

"You know it's lucky your mother's familiar with your birthday suit," Xavier chuckled, "cause I'm sending you home the way you came."

"I think you just want to see me naked Zabini," Bulstrode grumbled bundling up his shirt to force into the other's darkened fingers, the tendons flexing under his skin as he leant across the carriage.

"I think you just want to think I want to see you naked!"

"It's fortunate we're not betting with brain cells I suppose," Scorpius mumbled distantly, "yet again I would have a distinct advantage."

"You're just cranky you can't play cards;" he declared, confident, "let's go again! Papa needs a new bag of lemon drops, right Al?"

Albus was curled in the corner by Scorpius' side. Wrapped in his cloak and looking, to the blonde's inquisitive eye, considerably satisfied with the nature of the world. His blank stare ran out on to the snow laden fields, alternating with a light grin that graced his features as he wavered to watch them.

"So are you going to lock up in the tower and warm yourself on the blood of virgins for the winter Scorpius?" Zabini inquired. "Father's taking our family to some kind of Caribbean hotspot for Christmas."

"Hopefully to sacrifice you to a volcano God," Geoffrey interjected.

"Albus and I will be enduring the greatest tribulations ever put to mortal men: the Weasley residence."

"You're a braver man than I!"

"Evidently."

"I wonder if our pet monster's going to be lonely at Hogwarts by himself for Christmas," Zabini pondered, "don't think the dashing little devil has any friends his age."

"Or the same species," Scorpius sighed folding in his hand and rearranging his posture against the seat.

Albus shuffled from his bundle, offering a chunk of cloak to throw across Scorpius' lap in exchange for his shoulder to replace the window he'd up until then been resting his temple on.

"Are you going to hold up Malfoy? Having to deal with James for the holidays I mean," Geoffrey lightly prodded voice tainted with hesitancy.

"I'm sure if his body went missing at the Burrow no one would find him till spring if that's what you're inquiring." Scorpius shrugged casually. "There are certainly sufficient nooks and crannies to dispose of him so I'm certain I won't want for opportunity."

"I support this plan wholeheartedly-" Zabini cheered.

"You don't have one!" was Bulstrode's retort.

"_I'd be tender, I'd be gentle, and awful sentimental regarding love and art. I'd be friends with the sparrows and the boy who shoots the arrows…_"

Zabini and Bulstrode tilted, turning slightly in their seats, red leather squeaking and squealing in their swiveling as they cast very curious glimpses at Albus.

"That was entirely relevant," Scorpius certified.

Seal of approval ascertained they returned to their business jovially. Malfoy was a little more forgiving this morning as they made the rather tedious journey home for the Christmas season. He and Albus would no doubt spend the season hopping from house to house and family to family trying to minimize separation for no reason other than the exceedingly obvious fact they seemed to be electromagnetically joined, auras handcuffed.

Scorpius did not object to beginning their travels in the Weasley household, he was fairly acclimatized, but it did infer his inevitable attendance to the legendary Malfoy Christmas Ball. Rubbing shoulders with the elite and such business was never more mediocre than any other occasion but he particularly disliked the meat-market aspect of the event being his family saw it as a variable cornucopia of potential future wives for their only son and heir. He fancied he already found his future wife so undesirable that any skirting within her very presence was enough to fill him with a sickness Malfoy men were genetically predisposed to. It would no doubt be considered very proper and traditional in the eyes of his future Miss to know he had no intention of ever lowering her expectations of how incredibly uninterested he was in her affection. For purebloods it was so downright romantic Scorpius almost felt faint.

He let his eyes inspect the snowflakes queuing about the windows of compartment number thirty-six, breath grazing the top of Albus' head and exhaling slowly let his head lull momentarily against the seating. The flesh of his cheek sticking, suctioning, to the vermillion seating he ran another of his interior checklists over: trunks, wand, quills, callow youthful associates, Albus… Systems check complete he found himself drifting, wafting, in a bubble of secluded thought.

While Zabini and Bulstrode would claim there was no visible change in his expression while sleeping, an eternal scowl of discerning disapproval etched onto his features, Albus swore that in his professional opinion if you glanced at Scorpius in exactly the right position you'd receive a glimmer of childish innocence. All unfounded nonsense of course with no logical founding or evidence but then Scorpius couldn't very well debate the issue.

Rumbling of the train fading into nonexistence Scorpius ambled once again through the unfamiliar dreamland.

It was a very British summer, wind rolling heavily off the moors, and beside him Albus seemed not nearly as immersed in the view. To his dream self this was to be expected, Albus was much more familiar with Godric's Hollow than Scorpius after all having lived there all his young life. There was no urgency in Scorpius' stride, relaxed, reclining on a little slice of time in which he had no where else to be and nothing else to do.

Albus swung his arms by his side, twirling as he walked to better survey the familiar surrounds, humming softly in a way Scorpius accepted as entirely normal in that instant. He was ambling along the ridge of the pasture a few steps ahead attempting in a sing song way to replicate the syllables Scorpius recited in a manner much more comfortable than his English at present. The blonde, dislodging a curl from his own cheekbone, laughingly accused Albus' faux accent of being pretentious and laughing Albus denied the claim with little force.

"You are very like your namesake," Scorpius slurred merrily over the constants in english.

Then it was gone, evaporated, and blinking blearily against the light of the compartment Scorpius returned to himself. He could still in the back of his consciousness smell the grass and see the bees flittering between the blossoming weeds. He struggled to regain all his senses to the appropriate setting. He didn't like dreaming, not at all, Albus' blue eyes however happy were unnatural. It was in all something he would rather forget given the extreme normalcy and redundancy of the illusions. There was a wave of nausea injected into his temples from the event.

Albus pushed off him, dragging himself up higher onto the seat to meet Scorpius' grey eyes.

"Did you see a ghost?"

"A nuisance," Scorpius jested to himself.

"I have competition then?" Albus grinned.

"Not at all"

-369-

Scorpius and Albus, stealing a moment of privacy as Zabini decided it was best to quest for greener pastures he could abuse with his little deck of cards, pulled the blinds of their compartment and started disrobing from their uniforms into more casual garb. Albus crouched, pushing down his pants, awkwardly slipping out one foot and then the other with his claves kicking up exposed. By the door Scorpius was slipping up a pair of jeans, pureblood contraband reserved for time at the burrow, faded and taunt.

Students came and went outside, up and down the train, colors flashing past the cracks in their blinds while Scorpius arranged himself. James' jeering could be heard passing up the trail, a gaggle of giggling girls and Gryffindors in procession:

"Why do Malfoy and your brother always sit in thirty-six?" a girl called.

"Blimey if I know!" James responded, continuing quite innocently, "probably filled it with jinxes or something, you know what Slytherin's like."

"Is it true they're shagging?" a boy this time

"Come off it! That's Al you're talking about!" He laughed, "I dunno and I don't wanna know. That good enough for you Bertram?"

"I'm just askin' James!"

"Well how should I know?"

"Should ask yourself," another voice sounded, "if you're so interested."

"No you shouldn't," James hollered, "it's his business."

"Oh come on James what's the big deal?" Bertram returned. "Everyone always says it I just want to know if it's true or bloody not. I'm sick of hearing about it."

"Cause it's my little brother," he insisted, "I'm the only one who's allowed to embarrass him till he's red in the face. If you start making trouble I'll have to set you straight!"

"I'd just ask Malfoy! It's not trouble!"

"Yes it is! I'd beat you blue and silly if you asked Lily who she was shagging, if Al's like a girl it's the same bit ain't it?" He was standing his ground in the corridor now, "it's bloody rude, I know Hugo was raise in a barn-" he paused to join in the chuckling briefly, "-but you ought to have more sense. Being obnoxious is my job, I have seventeen years more experience being a brother than you so leave me to it!"

"Alright, alright! Lay off will you?"

Scorpius' pieces grinded and screeched against each other unsure of how to respond conflicted with pride and anger. James was, for the most part, an endearing sort of character. He lacked any cruelty but the fact remained Scorpius could not bring himself to like him. Eavesdropping was a filthy habit too, his manners chided, but it held no weight when they were shouting like farm animals.

Scorpius did, being admittedly _mostly_ human, wonder on occasion what exactly people said about him while his back was turned. He was curious especially what conclusions had been drawn about his and Albus' relationship. He hated to think it was boring typical liaisons that fellow students envisioned for them.

-3-6-9-

Mister Harry Potter remembered a myriad of things which made his life significant. He remembered being young, overflowing with imagination, magic and emotion caught up in a whirlwind. The color, the possibilities, the joy inherent in discovering very suddenly that he was not only needed but that he was _wanted_ by someone filled him with such passion he fixed his star to that dream and refused to let go. Being young had been such a wretched thrill…

Now, years later, he felt morose and turbulent. His exuberant dream cracking and screeching around him as his life came to a thundering standstill. Now at, dare he say it, forty-one while he may not have looked it he certainly felt his age with the same intensity he observed everything else. Tragically however even though they had not changed in body nor in mind the tiniest fraction under the hands of time Voldemort too was beginning to sense his own maturity in a way no amount of magic could halt. His joy was becoming tedium, his confidence in his own absolute power turning to frightening insecurity, death defeated it still weighed on him. Death had weaseled its way back into that calculating mind and try as he might Harry Potter could not wretch it out again.

As Voldemort became more obsessed Harry became more worried, more frightened, selfishly perhaps for his own fate in the inevitable mounting need for…_change_. Things now had reached the point where the Dark Lord had to progress onwards in his life, into a new era, a new direction. Laughably it was something of a very delayed midlife crisis Harry supposed.

What Voldemort wanted more than anything Harry could not give him and if he were to find alternative means of achieving it, as he would, Harry feared that he would be lost forever in the uproot. If Voldemort were left alone to rearrange their lives, shattering normalcy, when the pieces fell back into place where would he fit? He was terrified that in the quest to gain his latest desire along the way Voldemort would lose for him that which Harry lived for: his affection. Yet the more he tried to stall the more a wedge of frustration, anger and urgency was driven between them and into Harry's heart.

It would not do.

He would find a solution to their problem, very quickly, and bring back that sole joy which made his life worth living in this haze of power and struggle. He would not lose now, he insisted, everything he had for everything Voldemort wanted on this obscure whim which now fascinated him…He had only hoped to stoke own his passion, his fear, with the accursed mirror the Death Eaters had recovered all those years ago and which recently the Dark Lord had gifted to him. He supposed that subconsciously Voldemort knew, as he always did, what he needed but in an attempt to further enrage himself Harry had seen a _solution_.

His new star, the last glimmer of hope in his desperate issue, could be his answer to contenting Voldemort finally: Albus Severus Potter and Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Whether they knew or liked it would be inevitably irrelevant. Unwittingly they had irreversibly become the subjects of his obsession.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this belated update! Questions this time include:

(1)Theories about Scorpius' dreams anyone?  
(2) What terrible/wonderful/candy coated things is the Other Harry Potter plotting?  
(3)Is it just me or was Scorpius checking out Alby?  
(4) James: fool or friendly? Should we tar and feather him in an angry mob or coo at his silliness?

On another note I'm not going to prance on about the situation in Japan because Foamy the Squirrel put it much more eloquently than I can but please consider donating. After all without the hard working and industrious Japanese to produce caffeine products for me I'm downright _useless_.

Until next time, please be careful about inspecting abandoned train stations. Spiritual bath houses cost an arm and a leg in accommodation fees.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A little longer than usual this time, please enjoy! Lovely to see you all again either way.

* * *

Chapter 5: "Meanwhile in Kansas…"

Scorpius ran diligently over their schedule as they dismounted the train at King's Cross station amidst the raging torrent of students. Crossing the divide onto the pavement of the station he heaved down their trunks as Albus shuffled them to him from the top of the little set of brass stairs. Possessions safely placed alongside him he outstretched his hand to assist Albus in descending from the train. Stepping aside to allow the stream of other passengers to go about their business Scorpius hooked their arms and slipped through the brickwork to the Muggle platforms.

Amid waves of unsuspecting Muggle commuters that filled the station Scorpius regrettably tucked his hand away from Albus'. Muggles were on the whole rather disrespectful creatures. Scorpius had heard enough jeers and squabbles to know they required more goblins, elves, centaurs and the sort to be made more accepting of their own. They stalled near a café, Albus unraveling a lemon drop, as they waited for James, Lily, Rose and Hugo to join them in a gaggle.

Lily was the first to reach them smiling pleasantly however quietly, followed by Hugo who was yet again lapping the last morsels of something from his fingers, then Rose looking prim and proper and James as he managed to wrestle himself away from his adoring public.

"Sorry chaps," James apologized, hoisting his jacket over his shoulders. "So who's coming to get us anyway?"

"Mum apparently and uncle Harry if we're lucky," Hugo responded, "I think you lot are going to Grandma's before us though."

"Mum wants us to go visit her parents first," Rose began, "we always seem to end up spending more time at the Burrow than we should."

"Dentists," Scorpius sighed distantly with abject distain. "Why would you willingly spend your time putting your hands in other people's filthy mouths?"

"Not sure," Albus sounded ponderously, "must be Mysophobia."

"No, no," Scorpius drawled, "I'm Mysophobic. You're thinking of Ablutophobia."

"You're Dentophobic too and that's actually recognized by the medical community."

"Good to know I'm not alone in the matter."

There was a little curious, awkward, glancing but other than Rose's matronly sigh no direct comment lodged against them. James and Rose exchanging meaningful looks appeared to decide it best they kick up their heels and start progressing towards the exit so as to avoid too much more conversation. They quickly fell into line with Albus and Scorpius once again lagging behind the crowd. Scorpius was in no exceptionally great hurry, this was after all a holiday was it not? James however who did not seem to agree with their dilly-dallying attempted to create a more comfortable distance.

"Hurry up you two!" He cried exasperatedly ahead placing both grubby hands on his jutting jean clad hips. "We'll leave without you if you don't pick up those feet you lazy buggers!"

"Pull the other one! We'll get there when we get there Potter!" Scorpius snapped brutishly over the bustling crowd that was beginning to fill the rift between them.

"Just because you're Slytherins doesn't mean everyone else has to wait for you!" James hollered.

"No," Scorpius agreed as they strolled, trunks bouncing, "because I'm a _Malfoy_ everyone else has to wait."

"Typical," the eldest boy rolled his eyes with what the blonde would wager was only faux irritability for the sake of stirring a little bickering, "sometimes I don't know why Al likes you so much but then I remember it's _Al _so it all makes sense."

The Potter in question exposed his pink tongue to the air in James' general direction.

"Sometimes I don't know why you keep _breathing_," the Malfoy drawled sarcastically, "then I remember you're an _idiot _and it all makes sense."

"You were never breast fed as a child were you?"

"You never got beaten enough as a child did you?"

Albus and Hugo were moderately amused as the seasonal showdown began again with a great deal less venom than previously seen on the Quidditch pitch especially with Rose groaning all the while.

"Would you two kindly refrain from being so aggressive?"

"I'm passive aggressive," Scorpius declared proudly, "your argument is rendered invalid."

"Round two," Hugo chortled ahead. "Ding ding ding!"

"Fighting already boys?" said Misses Granger, Weasley Scorpius corrected himself, who stood suddenly beside them. Bushy hair curled around her face, hands propped by her side, with her shoulders hoisting a brown overstuffed handbag. Her habit of manifesting from nothingness during a lull in conversation regrettably rivaled Scorpius' own.

"He started it." James shrugged, blatantly casual about his accusations and let the paradoxically prim mannered yet scruffy woman sweep him into a hug.

"Hello." Scorpius sighed, trying to ease his stiff awkwardness out through his nostrils, and failing miserably when the woman turned and embraced him also.

"Hello Scorpius," Misses Weasley greeted as she pulled away and left Scorpius' hair in a frazzle while he reeled in the hands-on tactic of saying hello all these people seemed to be fascinated by. "And hello Albus! I almost didn't see you there! You must be overdue for a growth spurt."

"It's dreadfully late," Albus sighed solemnly, "I fear I may have to track down the order form and get in touch with the department responsible."

"You should keep all your files in one spot," she chided and by the straightness in her back Scorpius found it hard to judge if she was playing along or dreadfully serious, "and alphabetically sorted. I've never lost a thing but lord knows if your Uncle was left to pay the bills we'd be in trouble. Come on then, let's get you all in the car."

"Oh splendid," Scorpius stomach churned Albus' Lemon Drops threatening to rise again in his throat, "_cars._"

Scorpius had learned to appreciate varying Muggle contraptions. He understood that the poor simple minded species living beside his own had to come up with all sorts of convoluted and fantastical things to make up for their impractical lack of magic. He pitied them for the bleakness of their predicament and praised them for their creativity but he would never fully immerse himself in the culture with fondness. He hated electricity, he hated mobile phones and he hated whole damn mess of wires tangling everything Muggle's touched. Purebloods certainly had a step to take into the modern world, Scorpius also had an agenda to do so if for nothing else than his public image, but he refused to take that step if it meant integration. There would always be a niggling dislike at the back of his head for the Muggle population, the space they wasted and the nonsense they sprouted.

As they reached the line of cars outside the station and began loading their things Mister Potter, who had just manifested standing by the cars, and Misses Weasley said their goodbyes. As they split the group of children between them into their separate vehicles Scorpius found his eyes lingering on the form of Mister Potter.

It was so terribly strange to gaze at him now that he had seen the Other Harry Potter. He watched him straighten his inexpensive jacket, turn his wrist to unlock the car, smile and gesture and he was constantly reminded of the Other Harry. The staggering differences and eerie similarities between the Harry Potter he knew and the Harry Potter he had met over the term forced him to look upon the Savior of the Wizarding World in a whole new light. It was as if he'd seen a dark wraith like shadow of the man in the Other Harry. All that electric Voldemort-vanquishing power was utterly raw and exposed there in the Other Harry not coddled up in this paternal garb.

He, Albus and Lily pressed into the back of the car, James taking the passenger seat up front, and Scorpius listened to the voices of the eldest Potter son and his Father. He became afraid for the slightest moment that he may slip over the break and mention something to this Harry Potter he had really spoken about with the Other Harry but as the merry tone, the pleasant laughter, came to his ears he knew there would be no mistaking one for the other.

Pressed up against the window in the tiny car, willowy though he was, little Lily sandwiched between he and Albus he listened acutely to all trails of conversation. James was blathering about Quidditch unsurprisingly, his room at Godric's Hollow was plastered with magazines of the sort in teetering little towers, while little Lily Luna Hufflepuff was discussing something equally mundane. Scorpius found it disconcerting and rude to converse over the top of a young woman especially one as mousey and generally pleasant as Lily. He thought of her very little, in contrast to her two juxtaposed brothers she appeared altogether underwhelming, but while she was too quiet to catch the riveted attention of a room she was an undeniably decent young lady. He suspected given good opportunity, while she would lack an exciting partner in life, she would invite a man who would respect her. He hoped so at least, she was a good sort like Albus and even James. He would hate to see one of the few girls he gauged as well composed with some blubbering, drooling, Neanderthal.

He was momentarily distracted by the disastrously hellish experience of driving through the middle of London. His stomach was not at all accustomed to the sensation of sitting still and yet moving in such a click-clank way. The changing of gears, the stop, the start, the way Mister Potter turned (like a goblin in a mine) in sharp jutting motions…

When they came to their stop, Scorpius tasting the distinct tingle of bile in the back of his throat, they were ushered with their trunks into a little room with a green mingling fireplace. It was something of a casual junction for travelling Wizards ambling about London. A little floo network linked fireplace with some carefully hidden powder. The building was the crumbling husk of better more industrious days, slashed open to the sky in craggy mismatches, patches of reconstruction and scaffolding about the place like an oversized coat.

Misses Potter was waiting for them already, shuffling from side to side in her heels and pencil skirt, looking smart and sharp in her business blazer as she clutched it around her. Her hair was limp but vibrant and her freckled face lit up, arms spreading, heels clinking as the family appeared in view. Lily was the first to surge forward tossing herself at her mother and happily received was swept up, hair bouncing, giggles sounding. Lily was very much in the vein of her mother's neat little face. Scorpius found the features of women a little distorted in his own opinion. His mother and grandmother were very…artificially constructed against the more rustic styling of the Weasley women. He liked certain details of them but neither was really to his tastes.

He was apprehensive to see Misses Potter again.

She spoke with a strong voice and bold smile to her children. Kissing Lily's pale forehead she moved her daughter gently to one side to draw in her eldest, who fussed as sixteen year old boys do when hugged by their mother, followed quickly with a brushing embrace and confidently brief kiss from her husband. Scorpius stood back, pulling his hair over one shoulder, watching carefully as Albus left his side and approached his mother without any obvious hesitation. Ginevra pulled him easily into her arms, there was soft maternal hushing, nuzzling the top of his head. Pressing Albus' bony body close to her there was no hesitation in Misses Potter either. There was Scorpius suspected…_knew_, with some ghost of regret, genuine mother's love. Unpolluted and sincere unlike anything he was familiar with.

He could almost make out the words, the greeting, the swiping of Albus' hair from his face and that smile. A smile he had only recently learned to interpret as the- 'everything is okay, or will be okay, I promise' smile. He'd never received it, he considered he'd find it insulting, but it seemed to be quite needed by some and considered quite noble by many givers. It was especially common among parents he'd discovered, well, _most_ parents.

As Albus was coddled for as long as Ginny could steal and Albus would allow with James' teasing. Mister Potter swung his arm across Scorpius' shoulders with a pronounced and intentional weight in the meantime. Was it meant to be supportive? These dynamics escaped him entirely.

"Hey Scorpius."

His ears twitched in a sharp and elflike way, almost pinned to the side of his skull very much like his father, and inclined his head to the greeting. Missus Potter extended her arm and he was directed more gently into a hug he accepted with grace.

Missus Potter was by no means a bad woman. It was perhaps that mother hawk urge to keep her children safe that was so troublesome for Scorpius because it was in Albus' case almost claustrophobic in its expression. He'd heard she had once been possessed and seen first hand the effects of Mister Potter's conditions and tribulations. Then as if clutching to keep Albus safe from an oppressor, an injury, she could not see, kiss, mend or fight she believed what little the doctors could tell her. Scorpius could not resent her for that despite their different methodologies and his desire to. He was jaded by pessimism not age and experience he acknowledged.

"You're getting so tall. You're almost as tall as James." She very gently brushed a bleach blonde streak from his face making small talk as any mother would to any child's friend.

"James eats enough chocolate frogs to stunt his growth," it lacked venom.

"Are you enjoying being a fifth year? I'm surprised you aren't a prefect."

"We manage better from the shadows."

She laughed, a lilting little sound, boisterous like James and Mister Potter but the tone mirrored Albus somehow.

-3-6-9-

_Saint Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys_ was startlingly easy to gain admission to as a student. It was assumed no guardian would willingly place their ward in the institution without good reason and in the case of Harry Potter the Durselys believed they had said very good reason. In a way perhaps they did, he often considered it, but they failed to anticipate exactly how Harry would adjust.

It was, almost, an ingenious plan on their part. After all Harry could receive no Hogwarts letter in the Centre, he couldn't attend, it was assumed after some time they would write him off at the Ministry as a squib and Dumbledore couldn't be seen to be storming what was for all practical purposes a Muggle fortress. Harry, nor indeed the Dursleys, understood all the politics of it then. After all Harry barely understood what he was but in hindsight he'd come to…certainly not appreciate, but see the good fortune in his Aunt and Uncle's actions and all the other compounding, unlikely, coincidences which had conspired to keep him from attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The boys at Saint Brutus' were all of a likeness in that they had a distinct addiction, in some form, to shininess. They were like a flock of magpies squawking in a cage but they were all in their own ways amazingly harmless. Harry and the Dursleys had anticipated hardened criminals but of course what Harry found were cranky, hormonal, _boys_ locked in a dormitory behind an eight foot concrete fence.

Art, a cleverly disguised therapy session, further led him too to the belief that like linked conditions those who liked art were predisposed to kleptomania. A box, a discarded file, a forgotten school bag would be found and not spirited away but tossed into the center of a work bench with a heralding cry and the boys would all be invited to take their pick from the booty. They would line up, cluster around the table, neatly and politely compromise who was getting the last red pen.

The greatest display of violence Harry ever witnessed was between two older boys in his dorm. One found a copy of _Vogue_ the other was stashing under his pillow. The first taunted and the owner of the magazine in question pushed him over two cots so fast and hard he was left with a bloody nose. Within seconds however the rest were between them. The eldest in the dormitory sat them all down at three in the morning to 'talk', waking up even the boys who sleeping knew nothing of what had transpired, and after much crying they hugged and went to bed. Not before deciding however that the next boy to tease Bryce Bishop about his taste in reading material would be thrown in the skip over the north wall via means of angry mob.

At eleven Harry had an inbuilt skepticism and just happy not yet to be bruised and victimized as he had expected was hysterical with shock so ironically hilarious he couldn't move from his bed for two hours hence. He waited, for months, for the penny to drop. He waited to be punched, to be laughed at, to be left last and lonely and to be pushed away but all he found was ridiculousness in abundance.

"We're going to knit," was declared one day in his first year by the head of the dorm, a wiry boy standing tall with determined scowl.

"Why?" was the collective groan.

"Because Herbert Evans knocked some bird up, during the staff meeting in June apparently, and its fucking cold so we're going to _fucking _knit for the little bastard!" He was terribly serious, almost drill sergeant-esque, before finishing with a dismissive grunt: "It's the gentleman's shit to do."

"Oh. Right," came the retort, "who's making the card then?"

Harry could've cried with joy and nervous giggles, burying his face in his hands and wondering what planet had he landed on? The Dursleys would have removed him at once if they knew! For the first time in his short painful little life he felt…certainly not normal and perhaps not accepted but safe. He was assured he would not be locked in a cupboard, he would not have his glasses ritualistically broken by his piggish cousin and he would not have to make anyone's breakfast. These boys seemed to have absolutely no interest in what was expect of them and for scrawny Harry Potter that meant life was as good as it could be.

Halfway through his first year he plucked up the courage and asked, tentatively, to a group of boys who gave him a wide berth a question he would never have imagined prompting to his cousin-

"Why don't you like me?"

"Its not that mate," came the slur, "you're just scary. You make me feel like shitting my pants."

"_What?_" Harry gaped.

"Cause you're so…nice," another boy sounded bluntly, gesticulating, "I mean you haven't even yelled at anyone. You say please and fucking thank you like… all I keep thinking is blimey why is he here? It's kind of creepy."

"I…" Harry deadpanned. "My Aunt and Uncle adopted me, they don't like me, they think my parents were weirdoes and so am I. So they put me here."

"Crap!" A boy Harry knew as Fisher cried. "I bet Hitches you'd killed a bloke!"

There was no laughing, no sniggering, no taunting and Harry found himself considering his place in this dynamic. It seemed even here among what were supposed to be his peers he was an oddball.

Rumors of his criminal past weren't negated forever mind you. Not with rife uncanny occurrences of cruel fate and coincidence. Everything in his farce of academic schooling seemed to become dreadfully vaudevillian. From setting a snake on his cousin at the zoo in Surrey things escalated exponentially and rapidly. One Tuesday he slumped forward violently, during a dreaded attempt at public speaking, at which point a splurge of saliva slathered butterflies tumbled from his mouth and through the classroom. The other boys spent the next two days arguing between themselves if the butterflies were South American or African. One Thursday likewise Harry became so nervous, taunt back against his hard chair, explaining to Miss Hale why his homework was missing that focusing on her rumpled wig it promptly fell from her head to his desk and began ripping itself to pieces.

Instances of the sort were frequent throughout his first year with increasing strength, ferocity and incidence. As they became worse Harry found himself unable to restrain them totally though he tried. It was as if a phantom storm needing some release in a surprisingly delicate world was inside him but with time, experimentation, and a reverent audience Harry found he could steer it, direct it and eventually begin to control it. Testing the waters he became aware of and began pulling at the strings of something within him that whined like Misses Figgs cat to be let in and out daily.

It was in his second year at Saint Brutus' when a scruffy diary tossed over the fence found its way into the fateful art room he was comforted that he was not alone in his problem.

It was in fourth year he was assured that he was _never _alone.

-3-6-9-

Missus Weasley was, in Scorpius' opinion, far too excitable. He could've endured the cold shoulder Molly had dolled him, albeit nervously, with that soft wrinkled scowl of disapproval the first time he'd wandered with a critical eye into her kitchen at eleven for much longer than it had lasted. Missus Weasley, like Ron Weasley, had not much liked the idea of Scorpius' association with Albus. 'Residual war-time prejudice' his father had called it but the Malfoy had never really minded the idea of being left alone in the creaking, leaking, swaying mess that was the Weasley home. Still Molly's heart had, over the days of that first winter, seemingly crumbled under Scorpius' cool but perfect manners and pretty grey eyes in that much too serious baby-fat face.

At fifteen she'd fallen into a mindless routine of presenting him with ghastly sweaters and far too many sugar cookies for his savory disposition to handle in good humor. She'd become surprisingly attached and with a jeering squeal her voice rang jarringly through Scorpius' eardrums when they arrived at the Burrow for what promised to be the most preposterous cake he would see for the next year.

She and Arthur insisted on the Potters visiting whenever grandchildren or charming Malfoys were involved and while with some hassling Molly could be kept away for Albus' actual birthday some kind of donation had to be made to her matronly senses. So like a sacrifice jostled to the altar of an Aztec temple Scorpius primed his stomach and his patience. Molly Weasley, as could be expected from her litter, did love children.

Missus Weasley had not aged badly. There was a frumpy cozy sort of element about her and her fluffy red hair that was somehow endearing. Nonetheless her cooing, her smiling and her potbellied giggling seemed much too small and high pitched for the rest of her. She swooped, open armed, in her shawls like a great big bird to prize the closest child to her sagging breast and fret over them as they arrived. Through a carefully planted side step and light shove to the small of James' slouching back the eldest Potter rather than Scorpius was the first in her snare (much to his abject distaste and Scorpius' satisfaction). When the woman did reel him in, turning on the tightly pressed together forms of Albus and Scorpius she pulled them both against her. She accepted now, with what he felt was some delight, that the pair were just that: a pair. In all practicality twins which she happily declared _her_twins.

"Oh hello dears!" She blubbered. "It's so good to see you bot- Oh Alby you've grown!"

"No he hasn't," Scorpius corrected quietly, giving a heaving sigh, the woman's tight grip dislodging his clothes and ruffling his dead straight locks as she bustled around them. For a moment, like dunking under a river, all Scorpius could smell was sugar and all he could see was closely knitted purple wool. He was becoming dreadfully sick of this conversation. Did these people have nothing but heights and wellbeing to discuss?

"Oh! And Scorpius you look so smart with your hair long like that!" She fussed lovingly over Albus' soft giggles. "Look! You're so scrawny, the pair of you! You have been eating haven't you? Oh Alby you'll never grow if you don't eat more-"

"He eats like a horse," Scorpius assured her almost sourly, "almost took my hand off."

Throwing her head back Molly gave a great expel of laughter, patting the blonde's shoulder firmly, and squeezed both boys tenderly albeit a little too tightly. Scorpius was already bored of the lavishing affection, Missus Weasley was akin to toffee, she was simply too sweet for him too take. He wanted to say he wasn't used to such jovial, uncouth, greetings but knowing Albus so long had tainted that standard irrevocably. Regardless of familiarity or not he certainly received nothing of the sort in his household and given the choice he'd take a Malfoy handshake. Still he had to admit somewhat begrudgingly, like everything else he admitted concerning Missus Weasely, that perhaps there was a miniscule fraction of his figure that did enjoy a rough and openly excited clamor at his appearance every now and again. It was pleasant somehow but such would never be uttered aloud till the day he died. Preferably post mortem if he could find somewhere to include it in his will.

The Burrow smelt of burnt butter and wax as it always did about Christmas. Molly's cooking had infused every corner of the house and engulfed every available inch of counter. She seemed to start baking on December first and not stop until New Years. Having so many children, relatives and grand children she had developed a habit of having food about over Christmas to further encourage the healthy trade of visitors roaming in and out of her home over the season.

Released from Molly's clawing clutches as she amassed next upon Mister and Missus Potter Scorpius allowed his eyes and his hands purchase to roam. He followed Albus languidly over the thick worn carpets into the bubbling steam filled engine of Misses Weasley's house: the kitchen.

It was as Scorpius remembered it. Nothing in the Weasley household ever changed from year to year similar, his grandmother would be loathe to agree, to the Malfoy household. The backdoor was aching in its hinges against the battering winter wind rocking the house and outside the faintly stained glass Scorpius could clearly regard the expanse of field he was so familiar with. In summer it was a vast brown lot stretching for a great distance with tracks of muddy gullies crisscrossing it. It was a place for Quidditch and hide and seek and other such juvenile things he'd found himself in the midst of amongst Molly's litter of grandchildren. There seemed to be some unspoken rule that if there was a great divergence of ages the simplest way to spend time together was to indulge in some ridiculous child sport. He and Albus would of course duck below the high rustling stalks and sneak back around to a greener patch some distance away once sufficiently dirty to seem socialized however.

The Burrow was perhaps the first place Scorpius had ever spent a full week in jeans, the first place he'd gone to sleep tired, sweaty and dusty every night and there was in that a distinctly pleasant connotation if only because he spent such exclusive time with Albus here. The Weasley's were interesting enough characters, fascinating even, and he supposed every child needed some unsightly memories to look back on with embarrassment. Though he entirely underestimated then how much he would enjoy those memories in the future.

"The chocolate swirls aren't bad." Albus announced quietly plucking a pair from the window sill with sticky fingers for Scorpius' appraisal.

The blonde popped the chocolate dollop with its garish rainbow sprinkles onto his tongue whole and stood ponderous momentarily.

"It would be unseemly to confess to liking it," he retorted blandly.

"I'll fetch us both seconds then shall I?"

"Please do."

They collapsed gently into the splintering wooden chairs, shuffling the mass of laden aging china for elbow room, ignoring the hollering in the next room effectively as Scorpius slipped another scone heavy with strawberry jaw and cream pass his lips.

"It's a pity we can't see Harry over Christmas," Albus murmured distantly.

"Hmm."

"I think he'd rather like some company over the holidays."

"Is it even December there?" Scorpius queered curiously. "We haven't asked that yet have we?"

"No, they may have thirteen months."

"That would certainly be useful," he chuckled, "my father could get even more paperwork done before Christmas. Though alternatively this house and everyone in it would be in serious danger."

"Smothered in baking."

"Death by sugar inhalation," Scorpius countered reflexively.

"Fatal tooth decay."

"I feel as though I'm interrupting something deep and meaningful." James sounded solemnly and abruptly from the doorway. "You two weren't making out were you?"

"We were," Scorpius retorted his voice drenched in sarcasm, "we made wild love over the muffins and laughed victoriously at your virginity."

"How'd you know I'm a virgin?" James insisted proudly as he approached the spread china.

"The maiden doth protest too much methinks."

"Are you riling up the natives Scorpius?" one of Albus' many cousins clambered past James, drawing the Potter boy into an apish headlock, ruffling his hair.

"Fred," he acknowledged dully, "he brings it upon himself."

Suddenly the house was bustling with cousins, aunts and uncles piling up in a stupendous fashion like a can of sardines. Tides multiplying around them Albus and Scorpius escaped, as they often did, to a place where the conversation was more amiable and the company more to their tastes. In this instance the obvious choice was Fluer and her semi-stiff children. The Malfoy family, contraire to popular belief, did not have as much French in their veins as was to be expected but that being said a family did not get to be so wealthy for so long without marrying into every prominent household in Europe over the centuries.

There was flaky pastry, weeping food dye, thick chocolate paste and dribbling cream for the evening meal leaving the participants feeling as though they had just digested a very warm, very delicious, doormat. There was laughing, singing, a procession of bad and embarrassing party games, informal hollering and vicious gossiping well into the night. Even long after the students in the broad family had tottered up the stairs, fingers and furniture sticky with syrupy bubbling soft drinks, the adults were still cawing, cat calling, and laughing outrageously.

They were sorted into rooms, over stuffed into guest beds, spare couches and onto mattresses in the attic in the direst cases as the night waned. The Weasley family found ways of making space on every available surface though there weren't very many to begin with. Scorpius was left to his devices amongst Louis and Dominique in a closet of a space by luck of the draw after making the hike up the rickety stairs. Molly would always furiously insist that unless related directly boys and girls had no business sleeping in the same space.

So it was there Scorpius stayed until long after two in the morning when, floorboards creaking, Albus made his way, ghost like, into the tiny room Scorpius was occupying. Lifting the blanket at the end of the bed he crawled, tunneling his way through the musty sheets that smelt of mothballs and too many Christmases, and worked his way between Louis and Scorpius. The mattress of the once very grand wrought iron framed bed squealed and squeezing into place Albus didn't take a breath until his mouth rested against Scorpius' neck exhaling with great relief against the underside of his chin.

On Louis' other side Dominique stirred to find himself teetering on the edge of the mattress.

"_There were four in the bed and the little one said 'roll over, roll over'_" he whispered playfully. "Your bed empty Albus?"

"Just Hugo and James." He murmured, his voice hoarse from singing, into Scorpius skin.

"Alright Monsieurs I'll ze you tomorrow," he assured pulling himself out of the space, allowing a sudden influx of breathing room which left the three younger boys to move themselves out more comfortably.

"Thanks," Scorpius called in a hushed voice as an iris burning beam of light from the door cut the darkness and made him clench his eyes shut tightly.

"Tis fine," Dominique promised gently, taking on the role as the older children did of faux parents.

The door shut behind him and his steps could be heard clearly all down the hall however much he tried to conceal them. Despite his departure it was still unpleasant in the nest of old bedding materials accumulated from many years and owners and the mattress, thin and lumpy, could not mask the way the iron creaked at every tiny adjustment. The tightness of the bodies in the space meant too that while Scorpius' front was sweaty his back, exposed to the night air, was freezing. He could feel the sheen of Albus' sweat and smell the remnants of dinner. He could feel the dirt, the dust, between their toes as their feet rubbed scraping the skin. His arms moved as best they could around Albus, the other boy doing the same, one thin arm hooked crookedly round Scorpius' fine neck the other round his taunt waist in a vain effort to make themselves more comfortable.

Burying his face in Albus' dark, limp, locks to block out the veins of light through the seams of the doorway he was in the moment acutely aware of all sensations around him. Louis' breathing and the compounding discomfort itched at him on so many levels. This was the very embodiment of his memories of Christmas at the Weasleys. Irritation mixed with an odd satisfaction.

-369-

Scorpius woke frequently in the night to rearrange himself before slinking back into the inky blackness of his mind. He found himself turning every so often in those windows of consciousness to resume his position facing Albus' softly breathing body like a chicken on a spit roast.

It was impossible to sleep very well with the bed being what it was and waking once more he huffed from underneath his silvery strands of hair and twisted under the sheets. He found Albus' tiny patch of mattress between himself and Louis to be unoccupied and thinking nothing of it tugged the covers higher in an attempt to drift off back into blissful nothingness. There was a very anxious part of the Malfoy mind however, a kind of genetic paranoia, that kept him awake a few lingering seconds longer. He waited for Albus to return from what was doubtless a bathroom break, listening to the low moaning of the family Ghoul through the ceiling, with his eyes determinedly shut.

The house was nearly silent bar a few varying pitches of snores and the pitter-patter of snow tossing itself against the windows. In the dark gloom it seemed a little disconcerting for such quiet to have descend upon the house which was normally so boisterous. Scorpius listened subconsciously for those old house sounds which were so reassuringly tedious and found amongst the creaking windows a thud he distinguished as movement. It was wafting up from the down stairs kitchen he could conclude, his position currently on one of the lower levels of the house, and straining his ears for some hint of who it was heard both the groaning of the locked back door being tugged and voices.

Pushing himself up upon his elbow finally, sighing as he did so, Scorpius threw off the blankets haphazardly and left Louis with the delightful good fortune of having the bed to himself. As he descended the stairs he had visions of collecting Albus from a midnight snack with his cousin the ever greedy Hugo. He would've been much more irritable if he weren't simply pleased at the excuse to stretch his cramped muscles despite the soft ache in his half lidded eyes. Lowering himself off the last dusty step into the lounge a harsh whisper cut the darkness around him-

"_Albus you're dreaming!_"

Scorpius paused, his right hand still gripping the banister and extending his arm as if he were a boat tied to shore, and listening intently made the voice out as that of Mister Weasley Senior.

"Arthur please, be reasonable, I can't stay in your lovely home a moment longer. I've got to go."

This voice Scorpius could not recognize. It was young yet strangely contorted. Pushing off the banister he tiptoed as briskly and as silently as he could to the kitchen doorway. Leaning millimeters' around the frame he saw Albus tugging at the back door as Arthur and Molly Weasley stood very close by as if unsure if they should touch him or not.

"Albus dear," Missus Weasley attempted, "what on earth could you have to do at this hour?"

Albus paused sighing distantly, as though exhausted, refusing to relinquish his grip upon the door handle in one hand as he rubbed the bridge of his nose the other. He fumbled for a second over his face as if realizing something that should be there was not and in his hiding spot Scorpius waited bemusedly for his reply.

"A matter of the upmost importance Molly," he explained in a kind gentle voice that did not sound like Albus' own. It was only then Scorpius concluded that Albus was the unknown speaker he had heard seconds before. Blinking into the darkened kitchen he tried feverntly to get a better view of Albus' face over Missus Weasley's dressing gown clad shoulder.

"Surely it can wait till morning Dear," Missus Weasley pressed, "everything's alright and you're not yourself. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

"I agree," Mister Weasley murmured, back dreadfully stiff, as Missus Weasley moved closer to the curious child in an effort to secure her arms around him. Arthur Weasley was obviously not impervious to the same tense atmosphere Scorpius was experiencing as though they were straddling the edge between calm and chaos.

Scorpius was having difficulty fathoming any of what was currently transpiring this from his perch. Albus must've been sleep walking which was nothing more out of the ordinary than usual, as so was his unconscious chatter, but this scenario overall was downright peculiar. Albus had never had a conversation with Scorpius while he was sleep walking and he'd most definitely never used that voice before. He recalled the occasion on the train when Albus spoke to him in German and his visions of the mirror and was once again startled by the things his companion seemed to be capable of while in this trance.

He was so lost in this thought that he scarcely noticed the footsteps descending the stairs behind him. It was not until Mister was standing next to him that he noted his arrival at all.

"What's going on here?" Mister Potter whispered to Scorpius curiously, leaning on his front toes past the adolescent to steal a glance into the kitchen. As his eyes locked upon his son he too appeared to forget everything else, just as Scorpius had, and overcome by some instinctive urge moved past the boy into the small room.

Mister and Missus Weasley flinched noticeably as Harry strode in to join them, Molly's hand held precariously aloft an inch or so over Albus' shoulder in mid air, turning to reveal their rather uncomfortable expressions. Scorpius felt as though Mister Potter had broken some kind of invisible seal between the lounge and the kitchen and drawn by sheer magnetism let his feet carry him fully into the threshold successfully revealing himself but pressing no further.

Albus too eventually twisted his tiny frame to gaze at Mister Potter. Forced by his stature to raise his head slightly upwards to meet the man's eyes he caused an impossibly cold shiver to run down Scorpius' spine. Albus' eyes were open but glassy, empty and dazed, as if they weren't really focusing on anything but his little body straightened its posture fluidly in Harry's direction.

"Harry," he murmured, "I'm glad you're up. I think now is about the time we ought to depart."

"Alby?" Though his face was not visible to Scorpius the hesitation in Mister Potter's voice was evident.

"We can't afford to delay I'm afraid. You'll have to tell Ron and Hermoine of our adventures when we return."

"Albus…" Harry slid between Mister and Missus Weasley. "Albus' you're dreaming…"

"I know perfectly well when I am awake and when I am not." The child countered decisively.

Mister Potter turned to Mister Weasley sharply.

"How long has he…?"

"Molly and I heard someone trying to open the backdoor," Arthur muttered. "I thought someone was trying to break in. He gave me a terrible fright when I saw him. He keeps insisting he has to leave. Molly and I can't convince him to go back to bed."

Mister Potter seemed to digest the situation for a second stepping fractionally closer to his son as though he were a foreign animal.

"Alby please," he whispered weakly reaching out to try and pull the child away from the door, "you need to go back to bed."

As his hand made contact with Albus' shoulder the boy tried violently to shrug it off, as if the touched burned, and thrusting both his hands forward Harry Potter attempted once more to get a hold of him. Albus began to scream, thrashing and kicking, as Mister Potter and then Mister Weasley thrust forth to grab him close and hold him still. Albus yelled at them in half formed sentences of protest struggling desperately as Mister Potter got an arm around him. As he fought the room seemed to fill with an incredible sense of electricity, magic, hanging so heavy around them Scorpius felt all the hairs on the back of his neck prickle to life as he stood stock still unable to move or think.

Missus Weasley was forced to shuffle backward against the kitchen bench as the three struggled. The two grown men were having apparent difficulty in restraining Albus between them but after another painfully tense second he gave a choked sob as he kicked. It filled Scorpius with life once more, flicking a switch inside him, and returning motion to his limbs drove him to scramble forth. Squirming in between Arthur and Harry Scorpius fastened both hands tightly on Albus' shoulders and shook him violently.

"Albus wake up!" He hissed, his voice a little more panicked than had had intended. "_Wake up!_"

At the sound of Scorpius' wailing Albus seemed to crumble and collapsed inward like an empty husk. Gasping greedily at the air, he blinked up at the taller boy, clinging to Scorpius as though they were suctioned together his nails digging through Scorpius' pajamas.

For how long they stayed that Scorpius was unsure. Missus Weasley vibrating with quaking shivers and restrained sobs nearby obscured by the collar of her dressing gown as she raised it to her face like a handkerchief. When Albus' breathing had settled and a deathly silence hung about them Scorpius' watery-grey eyes flickered to Mister Potter's somber visage nervously.

"You better take him back up stairs Scorpius." He whispered so quietly it seemed to deflate him entirely.

Scorpius didn't dare pause to argue and against him Albus said nothing as tugging the smaller body alongside his own they moved slowly away. Scorpius heard Mister Potter collapse into a chair as they passed under the lintel of the doorframe.

"Whatever it is Harry," Mister Weasley whispered feverishly, "you mustn't blame yourself. This _isn't _your fault. He'll be alright."

Albus did not utter a word about any of it for the rest of the night and Scorpius did not ask. He knew in the pit of his stomach, as he and Albus lay awake in bed, that not one of them who had seen what had just happened would speak about it to each other tomorrow or perhaps any other day for that matter. He had great difficulty bringing himself to look at Albus as that thought crossed his mind, a heavy lump gestating in his throat, nor could he dare find it in him to touch Albus. His hands felt numb his body seemingly wanting to forget they were there at all.

Tomorrow, however much Albus remembered, he would pretend it had never happened and Scorpius would go along with it because of his own guilt. Guilt that he could not help Albus prove to his family he was well, guilt that he could not provide any educated explanations for it to begin with and guilt that somehow it was Scorpius' fault it had happened at all for making Albus so different to his family through their companionship.

-369-

Breakfast was an occasion during which dismemberment was entirely possible. Fred and Hugo for example were convinced the syrup was most conveniently passed by ricocheting it down the table like a hockey puck. Victoria and Teddy were somewhat engaged in each other, as much as two consenting adults could be with so many people around, while James slouched passing Quidditch centerfolds to masculine Madame Roxanne.

His Grandmother would've been horrified. Scones, chocolate pudding and toffee were most certainly not breakfast foods. It was a delicious but terribly dangerous situation. Scorpius theorized it was some sort of means to immobilize Molly's grandchildren so she could secure them permanently in her house. That or she honestly believed she was the only provider of nourishment for the course of the year.

"The toffee feels like the insides of a frozen toad." Albus murmured lightly, hand against the junction of his jaw, while he attempted to separate his teeth currently secured in position by the glue like hunk of sugar.

"Food in this house must be eaten before it eats you," Scorpius whispered, lathering a scone up with thick jam.

"You like it," he chuckled softly.

"No I don't."

"Malfoys never say what they mean." The Potter replayed from memory.

"Yes we do," Scorpius deadpanned, "we are the universal voice of truth."

"Case rested."

"Good morning," Rose announced, a hearty volume slapping against the table top before she herself came into view. The china bounced as she arranged a tiny patch of space for herself during the rattling aftershocks of impact. "Sorry, just-"

"_Some light reading_," Albus and Scorpius sounded simultaneously.

"How'd you know?"

"A hunch," the Malfoy retorted, voice thick and syrupy with sarcasm.

"Sounds familiar," she muttered casually, rising to her bony knees on the bench to bend across the pages and reach for a brimming teacup.

Tilting his head inquisitively Scorpius gave a somewhat uncertain huff, flustered perhaps, the sound was scoff like but undetermined. Over the seconds his jaw slipped down into a peculiar expression, a fine eyebrow inclining itself higher up his forehead, inspecting the curvature of her body as if it were some foreign species of gazelle before he spoke.

"When did you develop breasts?"

"Excuse me?" Rose sounded quite affronted.

"I'm deeply affected," he elaborated, "it's a frightful realization to be presented with first thing in the morning."

"I have been a young woman in your acquaintance for five years."

"Yes," he sighed, "but never much of one. Is such sudden…_development_ common in your family?"

"Oh for heavens' sake Scorpius anyone would think you'd never seen a pair of breasts before." Rose glowered, hair fluffed about her hot cheeks like an angry cat, under Scorpius' shameless appraisal.

"Victoria's are hard to miss." Albus shrugged casually over his tea.

"That's because she uses them as her own personal billboard," Rose retorted.

"If I was her so would I." Scorpius admitted. "It's good real estate. When did you find time to install an extension?"

"Oh Scorpius!" She grumbled. "It's just because of the school sweaters and cloaks, that's all, they obscure things."

"Not that much." He gestured, tipping his chin, fingers curled round his teacup and extending his pinkie in her direction.

"You're over reacting," Rose seemed entirely unsure what to say, "besides, isn't this all terribly rude?"

"So is the position of Teddy's hand at this current moment but given the present company I think my conversational material is appropriate enough."

"Why does it bother you so?" She sighed exasperated.

"He likes to be aware of his surroundings," Albus giggled.

"Yes," he concurred, "and it makes you appear…curiously feminine, it's unnatural, I find it almost distressing."

"I've always been female Scorpius."

"Yes but you've never looked it."

"I…" she paused, shaking her head and upturning her nose. She visibly considered it rampant nonsense of the worst kind. "Oh never mind! You'll just have to ignore me then if it distresses you!"

"Easily achieved."

"I honestly don't understand you," she confided, already exhausted from their bickering.

"We share similar difficulties then." Scorpius would freely express that he'd never comprehended the opposite sex terribly well.

"I mean really," Rose turned, twisting the fine little copper spoon in her tea briskly, "do you dislike me so much?"

"I don't dislike you," he replied blandly, "if I did you'd know."

"Then why do you speak to me like this?"

"It's not just you," the blonde assured her.

"Do you honestly converse like this with your friends?"

He and Albus exchanged glances.

"Never mind." Rose muttered pressing her nose to the spine of her grand volume, like a mouse sniffing out a trail, the tip of the little pink appendage wiggling.

"Scorpius," Albus called softly, "I think Victoria is about to suffer a dire snogging related injury."

"It's not possible. She's French," he comforted the other with an aloof air of certainty, "they're evolutionarily adapted to long periods of lip locking."

"Do you ever break for lunch?" Rose prodded. "Do you ever sit down and say 'today let's talk about school, homework and girls we like' or…?"

"We're professionals," Albus sounded brightly.

-3-6-9-

Harry Potter survived day to day, instance to instance, in his off state of being almost solely on the support of his little notebook during his second year at Saint Brutus'. He was never seen without it and the rest of the student body while curious we're not going to risk the potential subsequent fall out of snatching it away. While Harry had proven himself to be a charming sort of fellow during first year there'd been one too many accidents for anyone to be perfectly at ease with upsetting him.

The occurrence of what Tom called 'accidental magic' increased as his strength increased. Every day he mastered controlling one string of the stuff another would burst free of the bunch new and more dangerous. Tom, his peculiar friend always filled with answers, said it would be easier if he had a wand but that in learning as he was learning he'd one day be open to mastering the much more complicated enchantments of 'wandless magic'. It took Harry some time to believe him of course, he didn't consider a talking diary very credible, but that said after expelling African butterflies he was open to the possibility that everything his aunt and uncle had told him about magic was a lie. He asked, more than once, that if there were others like him why hadn't they come to take him away? Tom was forced to regrettably inform him that most Wizards today were foolish and misguided.

Tom did say however (and Harry clung to the idea desperately) that one day in the not too distant future he would find a way to remove Harry Potter from his troublesome life as it now stood. He said that Saint Brutus' was too fortified and too public for him to enter being presently weakened by unnatural means and that the Dursley family home also was barring him from recovering Harry for the meantime. He assured Harry that would change.

Luckily, by his fourth year, Tom was not so weak that he couldn't send Harry a babysitter of sorts. It appeared oddly, like the diary, and exactly as Tom said sending a warm ripple through the cold well of doubt and fear in his stomach. Harry felt for that moment that he most certainly was not crazy and that Tom _was_ real despite all evidence to the contrary.

His babysitter was a creature, rather than a being, that created a great stir at Saint Brutus'. There were for weeks, months, stories and rumors of rattles in the piping, of hissing coming from inside the drains and of an uncomfortably large snake seen slithering in the withered gardens. Never confirmed, of course, by pest control or staff and written off as more disruptive attitude from Britain's worst children. Harry of course knew otherwise. He was very fond of snakes he soon found and Nagini was unlike any garden variety Muggle snake but most comfortingly the strange trickles of energy pulsating from the Diary and himself emerged likewise from her in the most soothing fashion.

-3-6-9-

It was a very, _very_, cold night during the third week of June at the end of Harry's fourth year when the Death Eaters came to Saint Brutus'.

The sky that evening raged as pressing his nose to the glass of the dusty dorm window and pulling up his jacket he'd fumbled bare footed down the cold, squealing, wooden steps. The other boys didn't wake however till a blast hit the wall surrounding the school, sending a chunk of solid concrete flying into administration, by which time Harry was already pumping his calves across the grass towards the flashing lights and crowding bodies descending from the heavens. Nagini slid from under the building, glittering in the lightning, and as she moved across the grounds a cluster of boys from the third floor pushed themselves precariously out a window sill to point and scream.

When he converged on the Death Eaters every thing had occurred with startling ferocity and speed. As he moved closer those landing on the grass were moving towards the school buildings to drive the curious students back. When Harry finally reached the point of impact, the epicenter of the attack, he found himself stumbling to the feet of a handless squinty faced man who began leering over him. He pushed the figure back, not physically he realized once the deed was done, and trying to push himself up to his feet with his toes curling in the earth he felt a tug on his upper arm. The wind by that point was near torrential, whipping his hair into his panting face, but he was quickly aware of the long, bony, fingered hand clasped vice like round his arm. Glancing up, lips parted, he saw a face unlike anything he could coherently describe and momentarily off put he was quite certain he should be terrified rather than fascinated, marveled and altogether made wondrous…

"_Harry._" It, he, hissed making everything in Harry's world suddenly and gloriously alright. Validated finally in what he had believed those past three years Harry became weak kneed and longed to say something he couldn't fathom consciously.

There was an abrupt, violent, ripple through the air and crashing upon them like waves against a ship at sea a bright light came streaking down from the sky. Producing figures which began to take up arms against the Death Eaters splintered across the grounds.

It was much too quick when that hand let go, electricity still riveting through Harry's heart, and barking orders the man pushed him away. Harry was falling for what was less than a second but that seemed like forever when he was caught up in the open arms of Bellatrix Lestrange. Twisting him as if weightless she held him close to her breast with sharp nails and tender perfume. She was young, wild and beautiful then. It was the first time in his memory he'd ever been embraced and cradling his skull to her like an infant she disapparated them from the scene under her Lord's orders.

Harry never set foot on Saint Brutus' again. No one did. It was quarantined by the Ministry of Magic from Muggle view or use for the next twenty years.

By which point there was no longer a Ministry of Magic.

-3-6-9-

It was snowing lightly when they escaped the Burrow on their third day. James, Fred, Dominique and Hugo were playing some variation of Quidditch over the mound, Scorpius could catch a glimpse of Rose studying in an upper window and of Lucy braiding Lily's hair in another while he and Albus trudged through the field aimlessly. They had attempted to link arm in arm but sinking into the light, crisp, topping of snow progress became clumsy and difficult and extending his hand as Albus struggled Scorpius linked their fingers tightly to tug him up. Walking with Albus in such a way reminded him in part of his dreams. Winter rather than spring however but it seemed more appropriate.

They had always spent as much time as was possible to themselves even at the Burrow but over the last few days they had striven to do so more than usual. Not that it had been difficult under the circumstances. Missus Weasley had been twittering over them nervously after Albus' incident and Missus Potter had looked so devastatingly pale when she had finally descended the stairs much later in the day that the other adults had taken to shooting them funny glances. They had been murmuring often since, changing the subject awkwardly whenever Scorpius or Albus entered a room, and giving Albus encouraging pats to the shoulder as they ushered them away. The children in the Burrow had of course picked up on such peculiarities, they weren't new, and had too become sheepish.

Scorpius and Albus had said nothing of it. It was as if they were impervious to the glances and the whispers but Scorpius felt a great deal more vulnerable than he would care to confess. Ignoring the gossiping at Hogwarts was second nature but here he felt a heavy weight upon him whenever he caught wind of hushed voices. They reminded him of what he probably should've been discussing with Albus every instance since his incident in the kitchen. He possessed also the strange inclination that James was avoiding him perhaps angry or attempting to reign in his tongue's tendency to foolish remarks. He wished almost that the Potter boy would say something crude and unnecessary to him or worse Albus so he could dismiss the sensation and retaliate.

"We're both fifteen now," Albus mused casually, eyes primed on his feet as he attempted to patter through the clean snow. His expression as serene and dreamlike as the moment they stepped off the steps at Platform 9 ¾

"Young and stupid."

"Distinctly fabulous," he quarried, chuckling, "talking to alternate universes and all."

"I'd ask, ponderously," Scorpius began, "if this sort of thing is normal for people our age but in your family I suppose it is."

"Your family is better at staying clear of mischief."

"Not quite," Scorpius countered, "we make trouble whereas you attract it."

"A fine line," Albus sighed dreamily. "What does that mean for the two of us? As a pair I assume the dynamic changes."

"Logically," the blonde agreed, "really though I've yet to figure it out. All sources point to disastrously exciting however."

"That would be disastrous for you."

"Rich men like leisure and security. It's how they stay rich."

"I'm a bad investment then."

"Terrible," Scorpius seconded, "but good company is notoriously hard to find. Just look at my grandparents."

"I'm sure they like each other a little."

"Just." He smirked almost playfully. "They certainly have similar taste in men."

Albus laughed despite himself.

"The only thing greater than a woman's love is her lipstick," Scorpius quipped, "if Grandfather knew what a curling wand was…well…"

"I don't think curls would suit Malfoy men."

"I'm sure you're right." He nodded, finding their arms to have begun swinging gently between them.

"Are you ever afraid of the future Scorpius?"

"Furiously," the blonde admitted casually, "I dread my inevitable receding hairline."

"What about getting married?"

"I'm sure we'll learn to share handbags," he joked dryly. "The Malfoy family hasn't had a divorce for four hundred years."

"I'm not sure that one counts," Albus informed him. "Divorces don't generally involve meat cleavers."

"That's unfortunate."

-369-

It was almost nine o'clock, their fourth day at the Weasley's and the sixth day of the Christmas Holidays in total, that Scorpius' father showed himself in the Burrow's fireplace. He refused to Apparate to the village of Ottery because like many who attempted to place themselves near the ramshackle construction he always seemed to find himself knees deep in a muddy trench unreasonably far from the actual house. Scorpius was grateful for the excuse to leave nonetheless.

They had been waiting on the remains of a large orange sofa, covered mostly now in layers of rugs to mask the frumpy insufficient padding, when Draco Malfoy stepped from the fire in a great, unintentional, flourish. Their trunks propped, bookended, Albus was finishing the remnants of a tart daintily as he drew himself out of fireplace.

"Terribly sorry I'm late boys." He sighed. "The Minister wanted to speak to me and one does need to keep lines of pleasant communication open."

"It's alright Mister Malfoy," Albus replied.

"Never mind then," Draco Malfoy smiled gently, adjusting his dress robes once again. "How are you Albus?"

"Very well!" Was his merry reply while extending his hand to Scorpius' Father confidently. Draco Malfoy was not one for hugs or the like but he was content to give Albus a firm friendly, if not a little wavering, handshake.

"You look dashing Scorpius," he attempted next, "though you know I don't like you in those…things…"

"Jeans," Scorpius supplied. His Father had no retention for Muggle words. "They're just more practical here Father, stops my dress robes getting dirty."

"Of course."

"Hello Draco," George sounded. He was leaning in the archway of the kitchen watching with some adamant amusement as bustling the Malfoy straightened his back stiffly with a curt affirmative nod. Coughing the Weasley turned back into the glow of the kitchen. "Harry! Ginny! Malfoy's here for the boys!"

Giving the filial nature of his visits the Weasley family attempted to be as civil as possible and in return Draco Malfoy did his best to be very brief in his comings and goings. Albus and Scorpius, an odd coupling of comrades as they were, had often watched the awkward exchange of dialogue their parents and families endured in facilitating their friendship. Scorpius found the whole experience very formal, business like, and rather ridiculous.

Ginny and Harry Potter were quick to change places with George. Brief, tentative, smiles and nods appeared as Ginny crossed the carpet to embrace her son. Albus arched off the couch, arms hooking firmly round his mother's neck, in an instinctive motion and pulling back allowed her to plant a kiss on his forehead.

"We'll see you in a few months Alby. Please don't forget to write."

"I won't."

She turned to Scorpius a single arm wrapping gently round his shoulders, more for his sake than her own discomfort he was certain, behind her Harry and Draco exchanged pleasantries more skillfully and successfully than recent years. They'd become better since their first rather explosive encounter during the boys' first year. It had been decided since then that Uncle Ron would keep well away from the proceedings.

"I hope you're having an enjoyable Christmas." It was prickly but for Draco Malfoy it was something.

"Great," Mister Potter replied, hands in his pockets. "Scorpius has been as well behaved and charming as always, it's always nice to have him around, hopefully Al wont give you any trouble."

"He never does. He's quite a credit to you."

"I suppose you and Astoria spent some time away these last few days?"

"No, the weather at the French villa is rather horrid this year it seems."

"That's too bad…"

Albus giggled liltingly beside Scorpius watching as two men with rather colorful histories attempted to play nice. Mister Potter coughed, disrupting the atmosphere or perhaps simply providing permission for it to dissipate and Scorpius' father once again rearranged his tie and formalities dispensed they did their best not to make eye contact and ruin the civilities.

Mister Potter gave them both a final firm hug and happily, or at the least willingly, passed them into Draco's care. So that by exactly ten o'clock they were within the main drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

"Are you sure you don't want your own room this time Albus?"

"No thank you Mister Malfoy. Scorpius' room is big enough for three people and a rouge troll."

"True," he admitted, blinking in that odd way he often did when Albus said something peculiar that despite all could not be argued with. "Well Scorpius' Grandfather thinks it's very improper but I suppose we'll just have to neglect to tell him."

"That would be deceitful," Albus commented nonchalantly, "proper Slytherin etiquette then. You're a wonderful role model Mister Malfoy."

"I try," he chuckled.

Scorpius added nothing to the proceedings. He was never entirely talkative on the whole, less so in his ancestral home, it had the heavy atmosphere of a public building. He expected somewhat to be shushed or to find a 'quiet please' sign straight from the Hogwarts library. Albus seemed a little more at peace here however Scorpius supposed being the only Slytherin in the Weasley or Potter families for at last two generations it was relaxing to be in a home that encouraged house values.

-369-

"Albino peacocks," Albus sighed delightedly, chin in hand as sprawled across Scorpius' window sill he pressed himself to the glass the following morning.

"You'll never tire of them will you?"

"I think they should be included with every house." He replied keeping his emerald eyes primed on the expansive manicured gardens of the Manor.

"Shame Hogwarts lacks them."

"The giant spiders in the forest would eat them," Albus explained remorsefully.

"I've never seen these giant spiders you know," the Malfoy stated, leaning against the headboard of his hand carved four-poster, "not that I _want _to."

"They'd eat you too," he remarked, "and that would be dreadfully inconvenient. Your steadfast voice of reason would be somewhat muffled inside a giant spider."

"I'd have to send you memos."

"Your witty retorts would require express post," Albus cooed, untangling his legs and ambling from the large French windows to toss himself onto Scorpius' bed.

It was of no concern if they lounged in Scorpius' room all day. There were compulsory family dinners but for the most part interaction was not heavy handed in the Manor. His Grandfather, who despised being retired from official business, spent his days with company or telling his son how it should be done when given any chance. His Grandmother was always keen to plan a party, an event, a something with important people and was already taking swatches for Scorpius' wedding. His mother prided herself on being home as little as possible, socializing respectfully with other Witches at home and abroad. His Father was overwhelmed with official Ministry and pureblood matters that rendered his time very fleeting. While a Weasley Christmas was consuming a Malfoy Christmas bore a strong similarity to a night in an abandoned warehouse.

Minus the traditional Christmas Ball of course.

Scorpius detested the Malfoy celebratory bash that took place every year most prominently because of his Grandmother's determination that he attend. Why he had accumulated such a strong distaste was difficult to pinpoint but there was a great deal of pestering associated. Narcissa Malfoy had turned to such events immediately after the war as part of an effort to restore the mutilated family image. It had begun in the guise of morale boosting charity events and had quickly elevated to one of the most highly regarded events of upper Wizarding society. A fact Missus Malfoy was dreadfully proud of.

The Christmas ball in particular was Scorpius' personal cross to bear. It had been claimed as a more 'family orientated' occasion and rendered all manner of Wizarding children likely guests. Which meant by extension it was a breeding ground for Scorpius' eventual business associates and in-laws.

"What's the theme this year?" Albus enquired eerily.

"Grandmother's organized a masquerade," he groaned, slumping against the bedding. "As we know Zabini is away with the wildlife, his closest relatives, which renders us solely in the company of Geoffrey and an associated swarm of pureblood brats of all ages."

"We'll fend them off."

"How?"

"I hear lines of salt across entrances wards off evil forces."

"Perhaps but that would also leave my family sealed within the Manor which could lead to even more trouble."

"We'll have to break out the garlic and crossbows I suspect."

There was a gentle rapping at the door and Scorpius inclined his head, raising himself on one jutting elbow, as watching Albus remained sprawled limply on his opposing arm.

"Master Scorpius needs be getting ready for the party says Miss!"

"The bell tolls for thee," Albus whispered.

"Yes Sulky," he called dismissively, huffing a strand of blonde hair from his sharp features and turning to Albus. "I shan't go alone."

Said preparation was not to be taken lightly. The Manor was scrubbed spotless, rearranged and the house elves worked ragged tasked with his Grandmother's latest opulent menu. By the time guests began arriving Albus was being stuffed in his new dress robes (Scorpius' family had a habit of ordering him a set they believed were acceptable rather than relying on the taste of Harry Potter) and Scorpius forced to restrain his hair in something easily mistaken for a broach.

Years of honing his survival skills in such tight scrapes had given Scorpius the fortitude to last out the fussing and the good instincts to detect and exploit any chance for escape. He had slunk silently from his perch nearest the door in his Grandmother's sitting room after long moments of inching himself closer to it as an argument sprung up between Narcissa and a house elf about the earrings it had presented to her. The ballroom he fled to was not a great improvement upon his dire situation sadly as it had already begun filling in the early evening light with over dressed witches and wizards.

He was gratefully not forced to linger awkwardly along the staircase however as Albus appeared not long after, fleeing his captors, hooking an arm through the crook of Scorpius' elbow and attempting to mask himself in the other boy's shadow.

"I fear your Grandmother is going to immobilize me with emeralds." He whispered breathlessly.

"How did you escape?"

"Claimed to see the Minister for Magic arriving early."

"Devious and highly effective. You are on your way to becoming a formidable foe in the social arena."

Albus squeezed his bicep tightly through the dark dress robes and joined the blonde in surveying the mounting crowd of immaculately dressed guests. The darker boy had become considerably more secure at such events and Scorpius found himself greatly appreciating the support in such dark times. Tilting his chin to let their gazes graze Scorpius considered the peacock feathers framing Albus' green eyes which his Grandmother was very skillful at accentuating. Raising his hand delicately Albus tapped the fine pointed tip of Scorpius' nose with the pad of his forefinger.

"The Baddocks just arrived," Malfoy sighed lowly, eyes flickering. "Time to make another disappearance I think."

"Library?"

It would've been a brilliant idea were it not for the fact that while it did separate them from the amassing purebloods it placed them solely in the dominion of another adversary:

Lucius Malfoy. Scorpius had suspected he and his Grandfather's party would have converging ideas of where was best to flee from the sight of the flock and sure enough they found the room uncomfortably occupied upon arrival. Lucius was not at all amused by their escape plan and brow rising over the black backing of the sofa, his associates shifting to follow his glance, stared as Scorpius and Albus lingered in the doorway. He paused in conversation only long enough to lower his glass to shoo them off. It seemed the older men had secured the room for their own purposes and probably would not be shifted from the library for a good portion of the night.

Blocked as they were they were ushered from the darkened room and forced back into the hallway. Before a new plan could be formulated they wandered unfortunately into the direct line of Marcus Baddock, Lucinda Clagg and Herbert Vaisey.

"There you are!" Marcus declared. "We've been looking for our host Malfoy. Geoffrey said we might find you upstairs."

"And to what pleasure do we owe this invasion?"

-369-

The answer was expected but not at all thrilling.

It was Scorpius second least favorite game, Albus' third, but it was a regular pass time among pureblood children of the last ten years nonetheless. It was a sort of tourist gag, a little pureblood humor, a stab at the influx of Muggle culture the Ministry had tried to inject to create a greater acceptance post Voldemort. It was a variation on what Albus assured him were ancient Muggle rituals: spin the bottle and truth or dare. Scorpius found it cheap and greatly underwhelming.

It was simple enough. One player would spin the bottle, whoever it landed on had three options: snog the spinner, truth or dare and the dare may not be to kiss another player.

"If you had to marry right now," Marcus the obnoxious Durmstrang cad began to Vaisey, "for the sake of your line, of course, who from the party would you choose?"

"Your mother," he retorted mildly, smirking, as was the expected result.

The game itself was not really a game. Scorpius knew it all too well as he sat chin in hand, looking decidedly dismal, it was a trap. It was a means of gaining gossip, of humiliating and sabotaging future socialites and in the case of Scorpius and Albus an attempt to unravel mysteries. As such the 'game' usually found itself as a practice in distraction and diversion.

Rolling her eyes grandly Lucinda Clagg gave the next spin, darkly framed brown eyes sparkling with barely concealed satisfaction as it landed squarely on Albus.

"Truth."

"Are you a virgin?" She popped the question so briskly it had obviously been festering.

"Yes," Albus sighed, "I've never been to Madame Harlequin's Extraordinary Puppet Emporium."

"That's not what I meant!"

"You didn't specify," he replied an air genuine dismay and confusion plastered across his features. Being such an oddity consistently Scorpius' housemates were always entirely unsuccessful in deciphering when Albus was lying and when he was not.

Three turns later Scorpius was in the sights of Geoffrey, a disturbing suggestion, and glowering down the bridge of his nose intensely the message to keep his mouth shut on undesirable topics should've been obvious.

"…Truth," he mediated finally. Though Malfoys were bad in relation to both present options he certainly preferred them over any lip locking.

"Best wet dream ever?" It was desperately timid but voice crackling it was still translatable into English.

If his brow raised any higher on his forehead in indignation Albus feared Scorpius would loose it.

"I don't have them."

"Dragon bullocks!" Baddock declared certainly.

"No," Scorpius snapped, "I have no dreams including those either."

"You have to have had one Malfoy," he countered, "_everyone_ has."

"I'm exceptionally individual then."

"You masturbate though," Marcus attempted once again. He was almost hollering from where the six of them were squatted cross legged in a darkened meeting room. Lucinda hushed him with a hiss a manicured nail eclipsing her lips.

"You only get one question," Scorpius replied apathetically, "and it was Geoffrey's spin. Now it's mine."

Said spin landed on Lucinda who, raising her shoulders, watched him uncertainly.

"Kiss." She opted and Geoffrey seemed quite distraught he hadn't been brave enough to claim said prize.

Scorpius would've sighed but such was rude. Then again so was the attempted molestation of a boy two years your junior. He sat still as leaning forth onto her palms, bending over in her dress and exposing an unnecessary amount of skin, Lucinda attempted to cross the divide of their little circle of scandal. Tilting his head Scorpius directed the aim to the lower part of his cheek bone still un-obscured by his mask which he refused to remove. Huffing, deed done, she fell back sulkily between Vaisey's chuckling and Baddock's scoff.

"Real ladies man our Malfoy is," Herbert announced, winking playfully. "Charming the panties off them far and wide!"

"If you were any more frigid I'd have frostbite." Lucinda murmured, venomously, adjusting the strap of her dress with brutish obviousness.

"You just want him." Geoffrey chortled, his voice breaking, swallowing softly as his face contorted.

"I'm not the only one," she acknowledged pointedly.

"Spin the bottle," Malfoy ordered, "and you can prove it."

Bulstrode's face took on a myriad of colors but to his good fortune the bottle neck directed itself to Albus once more. Scorpius felt an exchange of glances, his own eyes flashing at those of the vengeful female among the crowd. Albus seemed to consider his options with the utmost reverence and slipping his hand within his coat, creating a casual slouch, Scorpius fastened his fingers round his wand. He reviewed his pronunciation for a finger-removing jinx as a precaution.

"Dare." Albus had such dreamy certainty it could be mistaken for confidence.

"Snog Geoffrey."

The boy elect made a terrified sort of howl before he could totally restrain himself.

"Hush Bulstrode crazy's not catching." Baddock ordered with a snigger.

"Foul Clagg," called Herbert, "can't dare anyone to snog!"

"Fine," she muttered, "I dare you to dance with Scorpius downstairs."

"Disney-esque," was Albus' reply.

"_What?_"

"Inside joke," Scorpius smirked, appreciating the joys of being semi-Muggle savvy.

"Well?" she prodded expectantly.

"Alright, if that's what you want," Albus shrugged with an innocent quandary. "Voyeuristic though it may be."

Lucinda turned a ferocious shade of vermillion and upturning her nose changed tactic.

There was much giggling and the like till they descended the stairs several hours later to watch the sparklers explode from the chandelier, the cake be cut, the wine be passed and watch the final dances be celebrated well towards midnight.

By two am the guests of any real significance had vanished and it was with an air of exhausted decisiveness Scorpius and Albus watched his father dispense with the remainder of the crowd. It was that skillful manner of being brisk while not admittedly cruel Scorpius had some trouble emulating successfully. Wiggling his nose Albus ran a thin-fingered hand through his hair to untangle the bow and displace his mask. Working it free he blinked, shaking his locks back into place, cringing softly at the thin red lines worn into his face and tearing his eyes from his Father Scorpius began to do the same. Ribbon catching in the clasp of the broach straining to restrain his hair he grumbled and rising to tip toes Albus worked the threads free.

They stood regarding each other, appraising, and smiling Albus was central to his view. Though for now Scorpius could happily pretend he comprised it entirely.

* * *

A few notes for this installment:

1)This chapter was waylaid because of every Ursula inclusive song in the Little Mermaid Broadway musical (reprises and demo exclusive songs counted). I feel as though I'm trying to channel Sherie Rene Scott for the Other Harry. What can I say? He suits big flashy numbers like "_I Want the Good Times Back_" and "_All Good Things_". They're so deliciously chirpily sadistic and appropriate!

2) There's a little something fabulous from my Beta currently on Deviant art for anyone who's interested: .com/favourites/#/d35m8ku

3) Dominique Weasley is listed in Rowling's family tree as Bill and Fleur's second child but gender isn't specified and the name is ambiguous. For this I've decided to go with male.

4) As always any ideas about Albus' conditions are welcomed. You lot have some smashing inclinations.

5) Any theories as to how exactly the Other Harry went from the shy bemused boy you just witness to the nerve inducing chap we now know?

Next chapter we return to Hogwarts. Keep your eyes on Nicholas!

_Until next time; be sure to listen to the Metatron and keep your flame retardant chemicals to yourself! _


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Merry Christmas everybody! Hope you enjoy~

* * *

Chapter 6: "Throwing Stones in Glass Castles"

When Scorpius lay his head down in the Slytherin dorm at Hogwarts, he was expecting to be returned to a place of contentment away from filial responsibilities. With Albus hiding his head under Scorpius arm and a level of thick blankets, a nose pressed under his armpit, totally cocooned from the world, everything should've been alright. Instead Scorpius found himself filled with a terrible, skull crushing, agony.

There was a metaphorical chisel beaked woodpecker giving him a lobotomy.

His mind was so full suddenly, he was certain his head was going to bust open like an overripe fruit and spill across the newly laundered pillows. He could see on the back of his eyelids, which were wired shut, burning images that spanned a lifetime and compared to his other casual dreams this was something of an entirely different level, an entirely different feel, and it _hurt_.

He had vivid lightning-like images flash in rapid progression, like the click-click of a camera shutter, over and over. He could see himself at thirty, forty, fifty…his Grandfather's hair, his Father's face, their suits with no scrap of defining separation from their identities till he or any idea of _Scorpius Malfoy_ were simply consumed by the overriding idea of 'Malfoy'. He could see a woman very much like his mother, cold and manicured, sipping her tea with a dismissive glance. He could see that woman age, never changing, ever thicker makeup and little cries and moans to a procession of other men. He could see a boy the spitting image of himself entirely uninterested in Scorpius, his attention or affection, independent and distant.

He could see Albus, taller and impossibly slimmer, hunched, curled inward holding his knees to his clavicle. Albus threw his head back and the impact with the wall behind it must've been painful but he seemed entirely unaffected. His face felt despairingly blank and Scorpius could find none of the same playful twinkling in his eyes he was so renowned for. Scorpius could perceive in uncomfortable jerks of his head the sparse white room, the hospital cot, the limp cheap style of Albus' garments and it came crashing down on him the exact nature of this hopelessness.

He felt strange, chest squeezed vice-like, till he feared he may hyperventilate.

Then by some unseen force Scorpius was slapped and shoved into a new vision. He could see waves of people shuffling in and out of the Ministry. There was a sense of being more than a socialite, of being important, of being needed, of being chased rather than chasing social connections. His name, his choices, his face emblazed and immortalized as unique. No wife, no son and no bloody suit. He felt not only central to his life but to his world, _the_ world, and completely at ease to make his decisions how he saw fit.

Albus then, filling his vision, arms tight round his neck and his weight heavy against Scorpius' body in a way incredibly real and present. He was in a flurry, wilder, wrapped in the finest: jacketed with a deep green pinstripe, an emerald dangling sneakily from one ear behind the veil of his hair, perfect silver buttons brushing Scorpius' clavicle, three iridescent green-blue peacock feathers bunched and hanging from his hip. He was smiling, not beaming, but that tight, tiny little look of a much deeper shared understanding passing between them, his eyes incredibly bright. There was freedom, security and confidence in his stance and manner that soothed part of the burn still ripping raw at the inside of Scorpius' skull.

The image stalled, like a break in an old film reel, crackling interference droning through his eardrums in an entirely unnatural manner. Through the din clamoring around him, Scorpius heard a voice not like the dream assaulting him, but cutting through it from some darker buried spot within himself:

_For the Greater Good!_

The flicker was gone as quickly as it came and with the whooshing sound of a crashing wave, he was shuffled back within the painful vision, squeezing him in an iron grasp. Albus, the Ministry, his family, Muggles… piled one on top of the other harshly, vivid, juxtaposing the conflicting glances of Albus in a way entirely too confronting.

His chest felt crushed to bursting, heart pounding, until the pressure vanished and the dream with it and throwing his eyes open into the darkness he gasped desperately at the air. Head tossing, lips parted wide, strands of bleach-blonde hair sticking to his gaunt cheeks, he felt his hands fumble through the blankets to forage for Albus. Finding his pliant form Scorpius shuffled himself onto his side, long arms fixing round the other boy and grasping him close. Scorpius buried his face into Albus' hair, hearing him moan and murmur subconsciously at the rough jostling, letting the other's legs flex against his own as he attempted to return to a comfortable spot in Scorpius' grip. He didn't stir any further, but let himself be lulled by Albus' deep breathing, the taller boy eventually nodded off once more.

-3-6-9-

As Scorpius returned to the world of the living, in a world far away, Voldemort slumped against the black mirror. Pulling his misshapen green fingers free from their holds, black inky tendrils clinging and stretching off the glass, his Harry helped him back into the tight embrace of a carved arm chair. Harry arranged himself beside him. Expectantly his hands tangling round Voldemort's nearest palm, pressing his lips to the lightly enflamed digits reverently. Pulling his hand free, the Dark Lord ran his long, bony, digits through the younger man's thick hair, tilting a pronounced jaw towards the third member of their party.

"Did it work?" Harry whispered, ignoring Snape's looming presence beyond Voldemort's face.

"Perhaps," he replied, palm settling against the back of Harry's neck, the nail of his thumb tracing along the slender column of the artery. "Severus?"

"Legilimency is more effective when the target is off-guard. Relaxed. Vulnerable." He stated carefully, textbook-like in his tone, stressing the syllables of the final word before continuing, "although distance is a factor, and there is little way of observing the effects, given the mirror's counterpart obscures our reconnaissance."

"You have no way of knowing then," Harry began sourly, "so you're telling me you're effectively _useless_."

"I am informing you that, given we are dealing with an alternate dimension, there is no way of knowing." It was a well disguised snap, and as respectful as Snape could attempt to project. "His Lordship is, however, the greatest Legilimens currently living. So, if such a thing is possible, our chances are promising."

"We'll see," Voldemort murmured to Harry tilting his chin between his sickly green forefinger and thumb. "I felt his mind. You'll be capable of observing any alteration in his manner. The suggestion is there."

-3-6-9-

"Scorpius?"

He stirred but, identifying the speaker as none other than Nicholas, buried his face back into Albus' hair with a distinguished huff.

"I don't mean to bother you Scorpius, but you're going to be late," Nicholas whimpered tugging at the shoulder of his shirt gently.

"I'd be careful Catchlove," Zabini jeered slumped against his mattress as he tugged his boots up his calves, "I've seen him gobble people up for less. You ever meet Glenda Crockford?"

"No…?"

"Now you know why."

"Scorpius? Al?" Geoffrey attempted, throwing his arm about Nicholas' shoulders. "We've got class soon. You better get up. Are you sick?"

Groaning, Scorpius forced himself up onto his elbows, hair curtaining his face and framing Albus' beneath him. He paused, watching as the other boy attempted to pry his eyelids open, blinking blearily up to the blonde. Freeing his arms from between Scorpius' bookending elbows, Albus hooked his forearms round Scorpius' neck and pulled the blonde boy back down. Scorpius sighed, burying his face in Albus' neck, chest to chest. Coughing, Geoffrey shifted awkwardly on his feet.

"You definitely seem sick Scorpius," Nicholas supplied sympathetically, "I'll go se-"

Scorpius raised his head, glaring pointedly over his shoulder and dismally blew a strand of hair from his eye.

"…I'll go to class, very quietly, and leave you to your business."

"That's my boy! Save yourself mate," called Zabini to the first year, "it's the Slytherin thing to do!"

"Scorpius was fighting Shamans all night," Albus explained fancifully, "he slew a procession of dream monsters."

"So _that's_ what happened to his extended family."

"I didn't think you dreamed Scorpius," Geoffrey quirked, perching himself on the edge of his mattress as he watched the two boys untangle themselves from the disheveled bedding and begin to dress.

"I don't think he does really," Albus supplied. "Scorpius' subconscious would find that a very ineffective use of time."

Scorpius himself felt rather sour this morning, which in itself was strange. He very rarely felt much beyond his dull inquisition of the world. Today however, lodged between exhaustion and insistent aching, his mood was resolutely foul. Albus took and diverted questions in their usual bantering-bicker as if sensing his discomfort.

"I think we've missed breakfast," Zabini groaned.

"You didn't have to stay here," Scorpius quipped laxly, pulling his tie taunt. "I would rather not have breakfast at all than see it twice in one morning."

"Wha?"

Geoffrey supplied subsequent gagging and retching motions in his own little explanatory role-play, stringing along a range of expressions from Zabini. Giggling, Albus ran the brush through his hair before handing it to Scorpius to begin his own long strokes.

"Your hair's getting very long."

"Is that a problem?" he drawled distantly.

"Not at all," Albus promised, "but much more and I'll have to cut it for you."

"My Grandmother would be distraught," Scorpius replied instinctively, voice fluctuating as he considered the statement tone ambling, from uncertain to gently resentful.

Albus appeared confused, blinking and shaking his head, cautiously gathered the brush from Scorpius' hand and took up the brushing himself. Xavier and Geoffrey continued their casual sass back and forth in the natural rhythm of the quartet's normal conversational tone. Scorpius found it grating on his nerves. Which was exceedingly peculiar because Scorpius did not _have_ nerves.

-369-

Herbology, which Professor Longbottom honestly believed was critically important for their OWLS, was providing a double morning session between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Always a dreadful idea under any circumstance, and, chin clasped in the palm of his hand, Scorpius found himself slouching. Zabini and Bulstrode across the bench were obviously confused by the unfamiliar posture and beside him Albus had began to fidget, turning his fingers over themselves in his lap, all of which failed to acquire Scorpius' wandering attention.

Slipping his cheek to his palm, Scorpius allowed his fingertips to roll over his temple while Professor Longbottom attempted to lecture over a group of rowdy Gryffindors. The greenhouse was filled with argumentative jeering and shouting as Emily Smith, a very passionate Gryffindor, and fellow housemate Timothy Blane were caught playing footsy under the bench. The situation was inflamed as Belladonna Burrow and the ever foolish Angus Dorkins of Slytherin took it upon themselves to make several generalized comments concerning the nature of Gryffindor and the intimate relations of their mothers.

"I'd say the same about your mother," Timothy cawed, "but being a pureblood she was probably too busy with you last night Angus!"

"Oh big man," was the retaliatory hiss, "you lot'd sleep with anything that crawled out of the _mud_."

Patrick Mimsy, a Muggleborn boy sitting very close to Timothy, turned a beetroot shade of blue with fury and began swearing profusely at Dorkins.

"-You're all bastards! The lot of you!" he gestured across the benches inclusively: "Dorkins, Burrow, Clagg, Bulstrode, Zabini, Malfoy! All of you!"

"Steady boys," Xavier chuckled, raising his palms defensively. "We didn't hop on this wagon."

Albus' eye flashed at the accusation, gaze flickering to Scorpius for some response and then back to the still enraged Mimsy.

"_Quiet down!_"

Professor Longbottom very rarely raised his voice, unless he deemed it entirely necessary, and shocked into a stupor most of the brood settled to stare at their reasonably meek and good humored teacher. By this point, however, the situation had become considerably dire. Still unsatisfied in venting his frustrations, Patrick dug his hand into his pot and tossed a hand full of firm wet clay at Belladonna's blouse. She in turn was reduced to the pureblood philosophy of superiority many such children sprouted when they were rendered without anything else to say in crisis.

The greenhouse was filling very quickly with very unpleasant conversation, like poisonous fumes wafting to the ceiling. All of which Scorpius found himself effectively blocking from his tired mind with skillful selective hearing. Closing his eyes, he failed too to realize Albus was becoming considerably flustered waiting, perhaps, for Scorpius to some how aid in negating the tension or to defend his own reputation as it was slandered. Instead, Scorpius turned his nose up above the whole accursed affair, and too nervous to begin speaking in such a state Albus squeezed his fingers together.

"It's not a secret Slytherin's full of tossers," Timothy shrugged, glancing across the ferny tabletop to where Albus was fidgeting, "and traitors."

Albus stilled, lips parting, and speechless turned himself hopelessly to Scorpius who nodding off against his palm from exhaustion had missed the direction of the slight.

"Shove off!" Xavier attempted defensively, stumbling over his words, unable to restrain himself, but equally unskilled in deflecting the aggression smartly.

The arguing intensified as Xavier and supportive Bulstrode tried to take the matter upon themselves to solve, without the aid of their usual mediator who had all but fallen asleep. Burying his face in his forearms, Scorpius had begun to doze, swears falling over him like water down a duck's back. Albus took a deep breath, knees knocking and pressed his hands protectively over his scalp, fingers shaking.

Professor Longbottom's booming voice was drowned out by the clustering drone of buzzing bickering and fingers curling in his own hair Albus was facing a distinct difficulty in blocking either out. Hunched on his stool, Albus faded into irrelevance among the rabble until within the greenhouse, eclipsing both trails of the argument there was a high, painful, sound which made the ear drums of all involved ring. Blinking against the table, Scorpius found himself groaning at the thrum rattling the windows just as the pressure of the noise, or the force, caused the glass to shatter stupendously.

The students screamed, throwing their hands over their heads and ducking under the benches, nonsense thoroughly forgotten as glass rained down from all angles. Scorpius came to a startling awakening, arms over his head protectively, the immediate threat making it impossible to scan for Albus until the moment had already passed.

"_Who did that?_" Professor Longbottom was by now positively livid.

Scorpius raised his head cautiously, droplets of sparkling glass falling from his hair as he straightened his posture. Around him his fellow classmates began pulling themselves from their hiding spots one by one, surveying the utter destruction of the classroom. The window panes had been reduced to a fine crystalline gravel across the counter tops, spilling with a sound not dissimilar to coins. Scorpius swiveled on the high iron framed stool finding Albus still clutching his head in his pale hands.

"Albus?" he murmured, his voice inquisitive voice delicate.

The Potter moved, slowly, hands frozen aloft as he removed his face from their cradle. Eyes wide, fingers bleeding from a thousand paper cut like scratches, face desperately pale. Scorpius caught a very real glimmer of fear in his eyes. Shaking Albus released a pitiful exhale and held his gaze unwaveringly.

"Who's responsible for this?" Mister Longbottom repeated, tight lipped, and Scorpius found his glance exchanging between the Professor and his companion.

"I…" Albus whispered, raising one bleeding and quivering arm, "I think it was my fault…"

"Al?" the Professor seemed taken aback, stuttering reflexively, "Y-you…you better go to the hospital wing Alby."

-369-

Scorpius was ashamed, a very new expression within his vocabulary. He'd never regretted anything, but lingering at the Slytherin table during their subsequent morning break, he could not have been more disappointed in his performance. He'd let Albus down _again_. Compounded with the nature of his nightmare he felt…well, he _felt_. Which was strange to say the least.

"You brew any harder and the tea's going to surrender," Xavier grinned lightly.

"Albus will be fine," Geoffrey mumbled, as if to himself, as best he could portray that illusion at least. "Just a few scratches."

"He'll be great," Zabini clarified, plucking Geoffrey's cup to sip at the last of the other boy's tea. "I warned you it was only a matter of time before he threw off his mortal guise, and what happens? Superpowers, which means the prophecy is almost fulfilled and then Gryffindor's going to be sorry."

"What prophecy?" Geoffrey huffed.

"I don't know," he replied bluntly, "but there's always a prophecy."

Clattering across the cobbles, Nicholas emerged from the corridor to haul himself against their bench where the two squabbling boys sat encircling Scorpius. The first year blabbered, or attempted some kind of speech, much too quickly for his mouth to follow the instructions from his brain and fell into a stupor of stutters.

"Timmy can stay down the well," Scorpius sighed at his incoherency.

"Timothy Blane?" Geoffrey frowned.

"And now Nicholas is talking in tongues," Xavier tsked, shaking his head mournfully. "I told you so."

"No!" Nicholas gasped, planting both hands firmly on the hard oak surface of the table, porcelain cups rattling. "You have to listen to me! This is important!"

"Careful Nicky," Zabini soothed playfully, raising his hand. "Its okay, this is normal for girls your age, it's a healthy part of becoming a young woman."

"Shut it."

Xavier stared, jaw hanging slack and floundering, and gestured to Bulstrode.

"Did he just?" He asked mumbling, "I think he just-"

"Zip it or whip it," Nicholas ordered sharply, attention wavering as he redirected his fervor: "Scorpius, I overheard Rose and James talking near the fourth floor bathroom-"

"You sneaky little-"

"Do girls always talk this much?" He quipped to Bulstrode causing Xavier to clutch at his chest as if mortally wounded. "Anyway, look…" flustered he took a firm, deep, breath, before he attempted his spiel once more. "James said that Harry Potter is going to come and take Albus home! And I heard from Belladonna Burrow about what happened in Herbology and-"

"Belladonna told you?" Zabini cawed skeptically.

"No, she told Herbert Vaisey, but that's not the point!"

"How many people do you-"

"What if Mister Potter takes Albus back to Saint Mungo's because of this? I mean it sounds terribly serious and-and…" Nicholas appeared near the point of hyperventilation, "I thought you should know! Because you'll know what to do! And I'm very worried and w-we've got to do something right?"

Scorpius stood, much to the surprise of his fellow fifth years.

"Catchlove," he began evenly, "I want you to go back to the dormitories."

"B-but-but!"

"Get my broom and Albus' without anyone seeing you." He instructed. "You can do that, can't you?"

"He's a regular bloomin' super sleuth!" Xavier cried awed.

"Go with Bond then and keep you mouth shut," Scorpius snapped.

"Who?"

"_Go_."

They scampered out of view. Hauling his school bag over one pointed shoulder Scorpius was brought face to face with Geoffrey.

"What should I do?"

"Stay here and act normal."

"I'd really like to help somehow…" he tried with an exceedingly tentative voice, wringing his fingers, "please?"

"If you must," Scorpius groaned softly. "Stay here for a few minutes, then get up and try and keep people out of the hospital wing if you can. Don't make a git of yourself, alright?"

For the moment, he didn't have an exact plan, but with their brooms at least something could be done. Mind ticking over furiously, the strings of his tired mind strained to formulate some ingenious, or at least workable, solution to their problem. Thinking on his feet, with half a moment's notice, was not Scorpius' strong suit. He was logical and possessed plenty of common sense yes but this plan-as-you-go sort of disaster thinking was not for Malfoy men, it was for adventurers and heroes.

Still, whether he liked it or not, something had to be done. After Albus' unheard of incident at the Burrow over Christmas the Potters were more concerned about him than ever. Mister Potter had probably convinced himself it was some fault of his, something left over from the war gone astray in the blood, and this morning's flash of stupendous unconscious magic it would be all needed to panic Missus Potter. They'd never taken Albus to Mungo's during the school term for a number of reasons and the beginning of the term was often the only thing that got Albus _out_. If they broke that rule now it wouldn't matter how long they kept him there. What would it matter if he missed his exams, if he had already missed a few weeks of term, they'd no doubt console themselves. Albus couldn't take that and Scorpius couldn't survive the guilt.

-369-

Slipping into the hospital wing past the formidable force of Madame Pomfrey was, on occasion, as difficult as breaking into Azkaban. Perhaps because why anyone would want to sneak into such places was quite a mystery.

Scorpius was reduced to crawling, indecent and dirty though it was, because a gawky boy of his stature was not easily hidden. Palms accumulating lint and the heady smell of disinfectant from the tiles, he slipped behind a privacy curtain and under a cot. He listened, he paused, he crawled carefully from under one cot to the next, attempting to recall all of his many years of rule-breaking related sneaking. Normally he and Albus didn't move about forbidden areas during the day if they could help it, he'd certainly never done anything like this, though Scorpius had never played tag as a child either, so perhaps such a comparison was redundant.

He heard the brisk click-clacking of Madame Pomfrey's pointed shoes, the clattering slide of iron rings along the bars securing the privacy curtains between the cots, and then the decline of those little feet towards the great doors securing the hospital wing. Exhaling at the departure, he cast his eyes ahead of the little cave of the steel framed cot he was currently hidden beneath. Surveying he was certain he could see Albus' school bag slumped on the floor ahead. Inching his body into view, aware of any potential medical aids or house elves that assisted Madame Pomfrey and how little time he inevitably had, he crawled under the next two cots. In the corner closet to the window, the last cot in the line, as Scorpius head emerged from under the previous cot in the procession, he caught a much clearer view of Albus' bag. Raising his head saw that, sure enough, the littlest Potter boy was curled on the thin mattress his fine chin resting on his drawn up knees.

"Psst," he hissed, "Albus."

The boy's ears twitched and shifting his eyes meet Scorpius'.

"Oh thank Merlin," he whispered, "the Headmistress said she was going to owl Dad at the Ministry."

"I know," Scorpius muttered, "Nicholas found out for us."

"What're we going to do?"

"We're getting out of here," the older boy answered firmly, extending his hand, "let's go."

Glancing carefully about Albus scanned the room sliding from the side of the bed down onto the floor. He gripped at his school bag and threw it over his shoulder before disappearing under the iron frame with the taller blonde. They moved slowly, stopping and starting at the surrounding sounds, until they were close to the exit.

"We move to the right. That corridor is quieter."

"We can't hide in the school, can we?" Albus whispered, taken back at the sudden realization.

"I'm not sure. Nicholas and Zabini are getting our brooms," the Malfoy responded, "for the time being I've no plan of staying here in the open for too long."

"Where are we going to go?"

"I don't know," he admitted, his neck was beginning to ache from being pressed under the beds. "Do you have the hand mirror?"

"Yes," Albus seemed comforted by the fact, "and the snitch?"

"Never mind the snitch-"

"It's important Scorpius," he insisted desperately, "I don't know why, but it's important."

Groaning softly, the blonde pulled his bag down between his knees foraging through itscontents hurriedly. Albus sat, leaning forward onto the palms of his hands, watching as cursing lowly, Scorpius scrambled to find the little golden ball. Fingers carding the bottom of his bag, he recovered it, liberating his prize from the bag.

"Got it."

Albus exhaled deeply, satisfied, and, fingers running over the pearls hidden underneath his school shirt, refocused on their exit. Shoving the little golden ball back in his bag as they both return their respective belongings to their backs Scorpius' hand fumbled for Albus'. His were covered in thin gauze, thicker than usual for it, and threading their fingers together, the smaller boy squeezed his hand tightly.

"Scorpius-"

"It's alright," he promised, "you can tell me later."

Raising the edge of the bedding, they primed themselves and inhaling deep, Scorpius gave the instruction to dart through the door and down the paved corridor. Shoes pounding, thumping on the stone, Scorpius drove them to a quieter patch of the school where they were less likely to run into students or the Headmistress and Mister Potter. He was well aware they had little time before Albus was found to be missing, and there could be few conclusions drawn that did not include Scorpius' involvement, being they were so…inseparable.

Scorpius intended to keep it that way.

They moved briskly, but were forced to slow their pace, arms locking, in an attempt to appear more casual when it became impossible to avoid other students. Lips parted while they walked, Scorpius could very nearly hear Albus' pounding heart, or perhaps mistook it for his own. He expected to find Mister Potter around every corner, or the Headmistress, but wand drawn, they made their way anxiously up the stairwell to the second floor.

Nicholas seemed to understand their intentions and it was in a secluded niche between classes he, Zabini and Bulstrode met with them to pass off their brooms.

"What're you going to do?" Nicholas whispered as they hid crowded behind a worn tapestry.

"Go to class," Scorpius ordered dismissively, "if you're cornered about us, which I'm certain you will be, lie. Say we told you we were going to walk to Hogsmeade, or hide in the Forbidden Forest till dark, or fly off the Astronomy tower or something equally absurd. Let Zabini do the talking, he's good at that."

It was mounting thirty minutes since they had escaped the hospital wing and Scorpius was increasingly aware of the shortness of their time before staff actively started looking for them. There was fussing and a great deal of kicking at Zabini's knees when his voice became too loud until Scorpius was able to convince them to leave for potions.

-369-

Scorpius' actual plan comprised none of the above, of course, as they would all be disastrously foolish given the trace planted on all under aged wizards by the Ministry and logic. Instead, he and Albus had scurried to the seventh floor and hidden themselves within the Room of Requirement. It was a move he hoped, aided by the planted misinformation, would throw Mister Potter off for the time being. As they would be expected to flee the campus immediately, it was the last choice on his list of possible options for the time being. They were certainly not flying past the wards, tangling with giant spiders or, Merlin forbid, trying to mask themselves amongst the talkative villagers in Hogsmeade.

They were not exactly within the Room of Requirement Albus informed him, as they sat curled behind a wardrobe, rather the aptly named 'Room of Hidden Things' usually only accessible via the Room of Requirement. Frankly Scorpius considered there were far too many hidden rooms in Hogwarts to keep track of them all.

"So what next?" Albus prompted gently.

"We wait till its late I assume and then use the hand mirror to make our way to Riddle Manor. I'd think it would be masked with its own wards, but I'd rather not risk the dangers of daylight considering they're bound to be looking for us."

"You think so?"

"It's not everyday Harry Potter's child goes missing."

"Why did we take our brooms then?"

"Just in case," he shrugged, "I wasn't thinking terribly clearly, seemed wise enough, and I suppose that this way, if Catchlove and the others are driven to tell the truth, they'll honestly believe we've flown somewhere."

"We'll be in twice as much trouble now," the smaller boy sighed, leaning into Scorpius' side as if instinctively seeking warmth.

"Only if they find us."

Somewhere in the obscuring darkness of the room, filled and stacked high, a creature of some sort rustled and cried out in its cage as the taller boy sat quietly. Sighing, Scorpius considered the extremity of his actions but, giving the possible consequences, he didn't regret them.

"I'm…" Scorpius swallowed sourly. "I'm sorry for this morning. I should've been supporting you and then none of this would've happened."

Albus' fingers fumbled in the darkness, pulling Scorpius' hand between both his own, and into his lap, cold digits squeezing his palm tightly.

"You're only human Scorp."

"I never wanted friends," Scorpius admitted, quite unable to stop himself suddenly, a dull thrum pressing insistently at his temples inside his skull as he leant back into the cupboard. "I'm not much of a human being I suppose, I've never really picked up the skills, but I wouldn't have any clue at all what I am if you weren't here. I think, honestly, I'd be rather lost."

He felt Albus thumb run over the back of his hand, his cheek pressing into his shoulder.

"We'd both be," he whispered.

Long moments passed between ticks, shuffles, sighs, squawks and murmurs nearby and far off. Scorpius swore for a moment he could hear other students passing, footsteps through the stone ceiling and voices through the walls. He felt exposed, keen, waiting for someone to find them, he suspected. He mused he wasn't very good at being a fugitive: the hours were dreadful and the accommodation sub par.

"Do you think," Albus began after lapse, "that the Other Harry would help us somehow?"

"I should think so."

"I hope so. I don't want to go home."

"Neither do I."

There was much more to be said, Scorpius was certain, but the words felt too bitter and heavy on his tongue to gather up the proper energy to divulge them. He could sense the ideas hanging about them like a fog, invisible under the guise of Albus' slow steady breathing and the clam rotations of Scorpius' thumb into the other boy's hand. His head lolled to rest upon the other boy's and in the tedium of the quiet Scorpius felt himself exit with the world of the living. He wasn't eager to sleep, to dream again, but there seemed nothing better to do.

The windows, dusty and obscured by clutter, were dark when Scorpius managed to pry his eyelids apart later in the evening. Heaving himself, awkwardly, to his feet in a tangle of gaunt long limbs that, raising his knees, pushing off his heels and palms made him feel spider like. He let Albus lay head resting on his own bag. Approaching the windows, he raised himself clumsily onto the old desks and wardrobes to move against the glass and regard the school grounds. They were empty under a high moon and there was so little wind Scorpius could barely perceive any motion in the trees.

He lowered himself very tentatively from the ledge back to the stone, he was as familiar with climbing furniture as he was with climbing trees, Albus was much nimbler at such feats. Watery grey eyes cast casual glances down between the rows of stacked, precarious, objects and there was a disagreeable tightening in his gut. The room was eerie, perhaps more so than Riddle Manor or the Chamber of Secrets, if only because Scorpius could not plainly see what he was surrounded by from all angles. It was intrusive and crouching beside Albus, he shook him gently back to consciousness.

"We can go now," he murmured, squeezing the smaller boy's shoulder. "The couches at the Manor will be a more comfortable to place to sleep."

"No doubt filled with cursed goose feathers" Albus whispered responsively, burying his face in Scorpius' bag, "from a rare breed of vicious Albanian were-goose."

"Only the best will suffice for a serious evil lair. Quality is most evident in detailing. I'm sure the Dark Lord spared no expense."

"Only the freshest virgin blood from Sweden."

"Certified baby-skin bound grimoires." Scorpius found his face etched with a light grin, hand resting on Albus' shoulder.

"Cthulhu express shipping," he countered, eyes shut as he remained prostrate against the floor.

"Footstools made with actual feet."

Albus giggled, dimples flexing as he smiled into the darkness. He opened his eyes finally, twisting onto his side, cheek never leaving Scorpius' bag.

"Time to go?"

"Yes," Scorpius replied with mild trepidation.

A thought passed between them, green to grey irises meeting briefly, as Albus swallowed, his Adam's-apple bobbing. Scorpius sensed the seriousness of their situation was still very evident to both under the veil of good humor. The thought itself he would not consciously acknowledge, certainly not aloud, that would make it real and he wasn't prepared for the weight of that inevitable conclusion.

Albus let the hand mirror tumble from his bag onto the stone where it sat, pale glow casting looming shadows, as they gathered up their belongings, broomsticks and all.

-369-

The Manor was simple enough to enter and the pair hoped that whatever wards were protecting it from unwanted visitors would mask them from the trace. There was a peculiar feeling of security that seeped into them upon entering Riddle Manor and being assured, as reasonably as one could be in an abandoned evil lair, that they were all alone. The cavernous Manor didn't feel as ominous as it once had and worried, perhaps foolishly, about ridiculous things like parents and schools beyond its domain the Manor had become something of a protector to them.

Locking the kitchen door behind them and moving sluggishly up the stairs with their meager items, Scorpius attempted to stir the fire, cautious to fill it with any of the suspicious furniture, while Albus removed the tattered curtain covering the Mirror and placed their things on the old sofas. In the parlor before the Mirror Scorpius was quite aware that the Other Harry would not be seeking them out for several more days yet. So leaning into the fine worn couches and arm chairs Albus attempted the laborious task of uncovering the Other Harry himself.

"It doesn't work," he pouted, slumping over the arm of his chair precariously. "It won't show anything. It doesn't even reflect."

"I suppose we should've expected as much," Scorpius replied from his seat dangling his long legs over the opposing side of the arm chair, "if it worked, Voldemort would've used it himself and I'm sure the war would've been quite different."

"Then we'll have to wait, I should think." The Potter conceded the defeat rather sourly, fine nails picking at the mesh of bandages encasing his damaged palms and fingers. "This is disastrously anti-climatic."

"At least no one should come looking for us here."

"I doubt it's first on the list of possible vacation spots," Albus sighed nonchalantly, rubbing the heel of his mended palm against his eyes. "I feel as though a herd of Grindylow have robbed me blind and left me for dead at the side of a very uncomfortable road. A very long uncomfortable road."

"The floor of the Room of Hidden Things certainly does nothing to promote good back support."

"It allows terrible sleeping postures but I believe the Grindylow made off with my exuberance directly after Herbology."

"I'm tempted to say you shouldn't have thrown stones in glass castles," Scorpius quipped in an attempt to lighten the memory.

Albus laughed softly, moving himself closer to the fire, thin arms tangling around Scorpius shoulder's across the divide between their separate perches. As he rested his head between the blonde's protruded shoulder blades, Scorpius could recall Albus' own from the Prefects' bathroom pointed, pronounced and bird like as they flexed under almost translucent skin, as he leant back into his weight.

"Shall we off to bed?" Scorpius suggested lazily, glancing over his shoulder as best he could and raising his hand to rest upon Albus' crossed wrists.

"I think so," Albus nodded removing himself from the Malfoy.

-369-

Finding the floor of the parlor too precarious, Albus suggesting the real possibility of cursed termites of some description, Scorpius begrudgingly traipsed along the corridors of the upper floor until he uncovered a bedroom, quite probably for the Master of the house. The room, bar the snow fall of dust that exploded into the air whenever any surfaces were brushed against, was in immaculate condition and almost frozen in time. The lid off the bottle of cologne, the toss upturn of the bedding, and the open books across the low table at the fire side gave the eerie sensation of the room being departed with its owner expecting to return.

It was in a tentative state of undress, rendered down to their school shirts and pants, that the pair mounted the mattress and tugging up the bedding put themselves in its embrace.

"It feels like he's going to come home any minute," Albus whispered as they lay face to face in the imposing darkness. "I imagine he'd be quite irritated to find two teenage boys in his bed, but the brief lapse of amazement might give us a chance to escape."

"Given the Other Harry, there is a slight chance he'd be all too pleased to find two adolescent boys in his bed."

"As that option would involve less running for our lives, it is somewhat preferable."

"I'm not totally swayed."

Scorpius felt quite infantile curled upon himself in the chambers of a great dark wizard. His gawky body condensed the sensation oddly akin to that of a child in their parent's shoes. It took him several sluggish seconds to realize that he and Albus, somehow bewitched by the atmosphere of the room, were no longer touching directly. It was with a little shuffling and glancing that Scorpius, unable to stand the pressure of the room, moved them into a better position.

It was in that changed stance the feel of the room again morphed. To lay with Albus' head against his clavicle, face buried in his chest, the smaller boy's arm slung across his waist while Scorpius' own hung around his taunt shoulders was nothing new. They'd slept as such for many long nights, in cramped and awkward spaces, in single beds attempting to make not only their own bodies but each other fit as best they could. In an expansive bed in a man's room Scorpius had a glimmer of sensation as to what it must feel like to be a genuine adult. He thought, knew, himself to be, in his own opinion, firmly mature for his age but at fifteen that maturity was nothing more than the budding ghost of adulthood and pretend. His pressing with Albus had always seemed a little juvenile, clutching at toys and teddy bears perhaps, but in a king sized bed in a house all their own without the presence of other adolescents, teachers or parents, it seemed something else entirely.

The sensation filled Scorpius with the embers of that thought and clutching to them he was once more secure in authority of his surroundings. Confident to banish foolish, ridiculous, notions of Voldemort returning home, of shoes and teddy bears and sleep with his usual aloof clarity.

-369-

Mister Draco Malfoy couldn't recall the last occasion he'd been summoned to the Headmaster's office for some offense on Scorpius' part. Scorpius seemed to be blissfully better behaved than Draco, or perhaps better skilled? This year had not started well however, what with punching James Potter. He assumed it was hormones or some other blasted pubescent thing he himself had grown out of but now he was note quite so sure.

They had been sitting for several moments rather tensely. Himself, Mister and Missus Potter and dear Headmistress McGonagall when teetering his teacup in his lap Draco began.

"So you lost two students."

"Not lost Mister Malfoy."

"Well effectively lost," he elaborated. "Not that is seems to be uncommon at Hogwarts."

"Mister Bulstrode, Zabini and Catchlove seem to think they're still on school grounds. They can't have gone very far. I suspect they'll be discovered at Hogsmeade by tomorrow at worst."

"And all this after…" Draco gesticulated with his free hand as he clutched his little china saucer, "Albus broke a window in the green house?"

"All the windows," Miss McGonagall clarified, "simultaneously. Apparently it was quite impressive."

"Well I'd imagine." He snorted turning to the rather sheepish Mister Potter. "He's very much your son isn't he? What with the damaging public property and theatrics."

Harry chuckled before he could restrain himself, Ginny dolling him a quick shove at the knee to stifle the sound and cause the other man to cough a little awkwardly.

"I just can't believe they'd run off like this," Missus Potter sighed. "I mean Albus can be a bit dreamy but Scorpius has always been dreadfully responsible. I certainly can't picture him wanting to trudge through the forest all night-"

"Certainly your son," Harry quipped to the blonde.

"Style is genetic," Draco mused, sipping deeply from his cup.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Mister Potter shrugged nonchalantly, "I mean I went missing all the time-"

"Yes, because that always went well," Ginny grumbled ruefully, counting upon her fingers, "Philosopher's stone, giant snake, stolen Hippogriff, werewolves, graveyard, horcrux hunting."

"-The worst that will happen is they'll get dirty and Scorpius will think it tragic enough to come back." He continued insistent against the banter.

"You'd certainly know all about tragic," Mister Malfoy scoffed.

"You don't want me to start that argument Draco, trust me," he turned to the blonde, twisting almost uncomfortably far in his seat to gather eye contact. "I don't live with my parents."

"No," Malfoy smirked softly, raising his cup once more, "you don't have any."

"Gentlemen!" McGonagall chided, "I'd suggest we cease bickering."

"Why? So we can twiddle our thumbs until you find our children?"

"If you're bored you could always complain at the ministry," Mister Potter shrugged lazily, "or we could go tell your father about it."

"I foolishly thought two mature men like yourself would've grown out of this," the Headmistress leant forth onto her elbows to bear her eyes rather expectantly down the bridge of her sharp nose.

"They're sadly more steadfast than the motion of the sun," Misses Potter revealed. "Miss you said some boys in their house think they're still on school grounds? Could we talk to them?"

Draco found that to be quite a silly suggestion. Slytherin children in his opinion didn't reveal anything they could get away with concealing but all things considered young Geoffrey did look painfully pale when they arrived.

"Boys, where did Al and Scorpius tell you they were going?" Mister Potter asked, resting his forearms on his knees as he spoke slouched. The children appeared to expect some kind of good Auror bad Auror routine any second.

The boys looked between each other, both fifth years glancing down to diminutive Mister Catchlove. Geoffrey, finally, took up the invitation to speak.

"Well, Albus said they were going to hide in the Forbidden Forest and then fly back to London."

"No they didn't!" Nicholas squawked in seeming amazement. "Scorpius said they were going to Hogsmeade when it got dark!"

"Bullocks," Xavier grunted, crossing his arms and cocking his hip. "They were going to follow that channel under the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. You pair need your ears cleaned."

Both boys gawked at Xavier mutely.

"The Shrieking Shack? Where did you get the Shrieking Shack from?" Nicholas blinked.

Sighing Harry pressed his hands into his knuckles. Raising his head he attempted a different tangent.

"Did they tell you why they were going?"

"Well…" Nicholas scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, the little first year paling slightly as his glance wavered between the Headmistress and Harry Potter. "Scorp and Al brought something in from the Forbidden Forest…They wouldn't tell me what, but I think they were worried someone was going to find it…"

"No way!" Xavier reeled loudly, "they didn't tell me that! Why the heck wouldn't they tell me?"

"Because you're a loud mouth!" Nicholas shot back.

"I thought it was because of what happened at the greenhouse," Geoffrey queried, "wasn't it?"

"You kidding? That was funny," Zabini scoffed, "a detention isn't worth going cross country for!"

"Well it doesn't make any less sense than what Catchlove said," the boy huffed crossing his arms, "I think they were just pulling your leg Nicholas."

"They wouldn't do that!"

"Look," Zabini commanded, "I bet they ran out of Lemon Drops and thought they'd fly to Hogsmeade and back."

"Do you boys do that often?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh yeah, Mister Potter all the time," He explained flippantly before stumbling and stuttering as he caught the Headmistress' sharply raised brow. "I mean…ah…we're not supposed to, so we don't. That would be against the rules."

"Of course, boys," Mister Potter grinned mischievously, "did they mention anything else to you? Were they upset?"

"No but then it's hard to tell with Scorpius," he glanced between the other two boys, "did they seem weirder than normal to you lot?"

"Not really," Nicholas shrugged.

Finding their subjects predictably useless and unhelpful, Draco, as a grown man and an ex-Slytherin student, wasn't certain whether he should be proud or irritated by the boys. It was obvious to him, and he would hope Mister Potter, that they weren't in the slightest even fractionally honest. Dismissed, there was a great deal of quiet hissing and shoving between them as they fled the Headmistress' office and perking his ears, for pure blood ears were exceptionally keen at catching gossip, he managed to graze Nicholas' mutterings.

"_Scorpius would kill us if we told them anything."_

Again he was uncertain whether to be proud or irritated as a parent with unique expectations. His child becoming deceptive or mischievous was hard to define as positive or negative behavior in a Slytherin household. Should he have scolded Scorpius for lying to his grandparents when he was small or congratulated him for getting away with it successfully?

"Well, we still know nothing," He voiced coolly. "What exactly are you doing to find the boys?"

"Mister Filch is looking for them within the school and Professor Hagrid has been asked to check the forest."

"Oh yes," Draco exhaled excitedly glancing to the Potters, "because Mister Filch always did such a good job of finding us didn't he?"

"Every damn time," Harry replied dreamily, giving a tiny pained sound as, hiding her own little smile, Ginny shoved his knee once again.

"They have to come back eventually," McGonagall sighed, clearly quite over Malfoy's spite.

"She's right," Harry piped, "the basilisk, the horcrux,-"

"The Room of Requirement," Draco added.

"-Thank you, yes, the Room of Requirement and the Room of Hidden Things for example were all uncovered in record time."

"You do realize you're assisting me now?" the blonde queried.

"Yes but its fun."

"They've got to eat," Ginny voiced, in her most prim and responsible tone in some kind of effort to subdue them. "Then we can give them a stiff talking to."

"In the meantime I, however, am going home to a stiff drink," Draco grumbled, placing his empty teacup upon the table as he pushed himself to his feet, "while I entrust the future of my line to your capable hands of course Headmistress. It was a pleasure to see you again, please keep me informed."

-369-

Scorpius awoke in the morning to feel Albus spasm against him and jolt up from the bedding. He sat, perfectly still, as propping himself up on his elbow, Scorpius watched carefully before, with a great exhale, he fell back heavily into the mattress.

"Are you alright?" the blonde murmured cautiously, observing the other boy's blank face as he regarded the ceiling above them.

"I had a dream," he whispered, "I fell down a hole, jumped really, and it was long, deep and cold and when I tumbled out the other side everything was upside down…but it was nice… then I saw something, just beyond where we were sitting…and I was sure it was something of mine so I stood up to go and get it and when I turned back everything was gone…I was sure that it was all my fault."

"I don't expect you remember what it was?"

"No," Albus sighed tossing onto his side, curling in away from the other boy, "I don't know."

The weather did nothing to improve their dismal dispositions, exhausted and alone, as tossing back the curtains briskly, Scorpius had the pleasure of beholding the rough play of wind and murky grey skies over the empty land. As Albus remained solitary across the bed, glancing over the landscape, Scorpius had the moment necessary to digest his thought from the day before; there was very little chance they would return to Hogwarts. Things had escalated and resting his hands heavily on the window sill Scorpius hunched his back and let his hair fall down.

Turning his mind to practicalities, he focused on the matter of breakfast to distract himself. Their school clothes felt quite dismal, heavy with sweat and dust, but Scorpius was cautious to go looking for any more. Their school bags turned up little in regard to sustenance and anything in the kitchen that was edible could now qualify for showcase at the nearest museum.

"I'd suggest looking outside for food," Albus murmured pulling himself up onto a kitchen bench top with the force of his arms to sit dangling at its edge, "but neither of us is very skilled a foraging."

"Unfortunately I think you're right."

"There's a village nearby."

"We don't have any money."

"Oh that's alright," the Potter replied, "it's a Muggle village, it wouldn't help us anyway."

"Then why did you mention it?"

"Figured it couldn't hurt."

"Well they're Muggles…" Scorpius mused thoughtfully.

"Hence it being a Muggle village."

"No," the blonde attempted to clarify, waving his hand.

"They're not Muggles?" Albus responded quite surprised.

"No, no!" Scorpius shook his head, "I mean, they _are_Muggles-"

"Exactly!"

"-but…because they're Muggles if we…" he sighed, slumping into one of the creaking chairs surrounding the dilapidated kitchen table, pressing his mouth into a thin line and resting his chin in his palm.

"If we…?" Albus took the seat beside him, leaning forth with his fingers laced tightly over his knees.

"We could get food from them."

"But we don't have any money." The darker haired boy seemed genuinely perplexed as Scorpius sheepishly tried to explain himself.

"Yes we don't but, as they're Muggles, we could probably get something to eat without them noticing."

"Oh…" Albus slumped back into his seat, face torn with understanding and uncanny innocence at the mere suggestion.

Scorpius' tongue felt heavy, a bitter taste infecting his saliva, at the mere suggestion leaving his mouth. It was logical and it would be simple enough, but it didn't seem to sit well with either of them. They were Slytherins but Scorpius had never planned, never gone out of his way, to hurt someone or make them miserable. He could say cruel things without regret, he could whack Nicholas east and west, he could punch James' lights out and would again, but he didn't have the stomach for being…cruel to those he didn't know, or didn't deserve it…muggles or not.

"Forget I said anything," he retracted suddenly, Albus' ears perking, eyes flickering over Scorpius' somber profile and, exhaling with immense relief, the Potter eased his grip.

"Oh good, you scared me dreadfully for a moment there!" He laughed.

"My apologies," Scorpius soothed.

How far would his…scruples bend if the need arose? What if they were stuck out here indefinitely?

-369-

Returning to their beds in the dormitory the next night, Xavier was snoring carelessly, obnoxiously, as soon as his head hit the pillow. Geoffrey himself had considerably more difficulty staring out into the darkness at the two empty beds in their room. His heart nearly leapt eagerly from his chest when he heard the aging door creak open, pushing up to his knees, restraining himself from jumping over the bed end and discovering if somehow Scorpius had decided to return.

"Hello?"

He slumped back as Nicholas squeezed between the cracks of the door and stumbled into the chilled room. It was always a little cold down in the dungeons to some claustrophobic, as though the very school could collapse any moment above them, and to others almost womb like and protective.

"What's that sound?" Nicholas whispered, clambering onto the end of his bed, "it sounds like an exploding bagpipe, don't tell me that's Xavier?"

"He can yodel too," Geoffrey chuckled.

"I can tell. I'm surprised he hasn't woken any dead yet."

"What are you doing up?" He cut suddenly, knee bouncing nervously, his attention and patience short at the midnight hour.

"I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk, thought maybe I'd find them…"

"Anything?"

"No, Filch almost caught me though," Nicholas sighed, tiny body shifting uncomfortably on the green quilt. "I've never gone out at night like this by my own…I don't know how Al and Scorp do it all the time without getting in trouble."

"Heard anything new Mister Spy?" Geoffrey teased weakly, shoving the boy's upper arm with the back of his knuckles.

"Filch talked to the Headmistress, Professor Hagrid too, I saw them meeting near the Great Hall. Filch said he's sick of looking so Headmistress McGonagall said she was going to owl their parents again…"

Geoffrey sighed, fingers curling and tracing the bottom of his pants distantly.

"It's bothering me." Nicholas grumbled.

"What? The whole thing?" Bulstrode questioned.

"They've been sneaking out a lot lately, but they wouldn't tell me why or where. I'm worried. What if they don't come back?"

"They were probably charting a course back to Valhalla," Zabini sounded suddenly, groaning into his pillows as he awoke, "got in contact with their own kind finally."

"Sounded like you were channeling something through your nostrils a few moments ago," Nicholas snapped tiredly.

"Your great Aunt Beatrice says you're a disappointment Catchlove"

-369-

Their second evening at Riddle manor was exceedingly uncomfortable. As they ran out of the remaining fire wood they were forced to sleep in their thoroughly over worn school uniforms and press close into bed. Sleep too was relatively unreachable being as hungry as they'd become in such a reasonably short time of doing nothing. Likewise, the water in the piping was either frozen or freezing with the boiler long since passed it expiration date.

By the third evening they sat, sufficiently ruffled, under a stolen blanket before the Mirror in the parlor counting down the minutes to the Other Harry's arrival with Albus' head lolling on Scorpius' shoulder.

"Being a fugitive is very unglamorous," Albus murmured in a daze, "I feel utterly mislead by years of bed time stories."

"This is why I don't go camping."

"No," the Potter laughed softly at the sourness in the other boys voice. "These are but a few of the reasons you don't go camping. You have an encyclopedia."

Scorpius laughed tiredly, shoulders bouncing, in acknowledgement before, much to their comfort, the mirror began to flicker smolderingly to life. It took several moments, a vague smoky outline, blobby distorted images like those of the back of spoon transforming to that precise, vivid, likeness of their own room. The room on the other side of the Mirror however had never looked more appetizing, wood freshly polished, fire blazing and a beautifully crafted glass tumbler of alcohol glimmering on the table behind the chair in front of the glass.

His eyes wandered languidly over the arms of the chair, enviably comfortably juxtaposed to their dusty floorboards, and settled upon not Harry's face, but another. Beside him Albus gasped and frowning Scorpius regarded the inhuman features of the face staring back at them intrusively. Seeking, he saw the Other Harry, finally, arms folded over the back of the chair and chin resting upon them while Albus leant forth out of the blanket onto his fingers.

"I've seen you," he whispered, "in my dream…"

"And I've seen you," came the firm but low reply from a face that didn't really seem to be a face, resonating through the glass.

"Albus-Severus, Scorpius," the Other Harry called in a gentle tone, "I thought I'd finally introduce you to the Dark Lord-" he paused, half moving from behind the chair, "you two look awful."

"We had an accident," Albus explained remorsefully, "we've been here for two days waiting to talk to you."

"Oh boys," the Other Harry sighed, glancing down his shoulder to what Scorpius now realized, with immense awe and horror, must be Voldemort. "I told you."

"So you did," the man, thing, hissed sharp eyes running over their present pathetic states inquisitively. Leaning back, he pressed a sickly green thumb to the cusp of his chin, index finger resting against his thin lips before he spoke again. "What exactly happened to you two?"

Albus' arms, currently resting his weight on the tips of his fingers extended like spiders on the floor boards, shook slightly causing the blanket he was leaning from to slip further down his shoulders and rest low on his hips. Scorpius felt, for a second, as though the other boy was leaning closer to a precipice and summoning up the tiny morsel of courage buried somewhere deep _deep _inside him started to speak with as much eloquence as he could muster. No human being had ever frightened him. He respected some, disliked others, but never had he with all his certainty been so intimidated.

"-And so we came here because I assumed that there would be wards that might protect us from the trace."

There was a tense, palpable, moment of silence.

"You were a clever boy to think so," Voldemort's attention wavered quickly to Albus, "and you must be more powerful than you appear."

Tension between the students seemed to ease a little at the bead of approval, and laughing jaggedly, the Other Harry spoke again.

"Trust you to get into trouble. I expected something like this would happen sooner or later."

Scorpius had been holding what little nerve he possessed but could not shake the sensation, drawn from the expression on the Dark Lord's face, that the thing wanted to gobble them both up in the most violent and brutal manner.

"Can you help us?" Albus asked, stunned, but warily cautious by their present company.

"Yes, I think so," the Other Harry admitted, "but really it's up to you."

"What do you mean?" Scorpius inquired as he coughed against the dust he couldn't seem to stop inhaling.

"We know a way we could bring you here; you could come be with us, if you want to. It's up to the two of you to decide."

"You'd want us?"

"Harry and I are immortal." The Dark Lord spoke suddenly, dread bursting to the surface from deep within Scorpius' stomach once more. "I'm quickly becoming bored of this game of global conquest and I think, very soon, its best we move onto the next phase of our lives. However I have no intention of letting my legacy, my empire, fall to a ruin of ashes and memories once more. No wizard alive will ever forget my name. So it's come to my attention that it would be in our best interest to acquire an heir, or two, to take my and Harry's place. You two have jumped to the top of my list.

So then, the question is, would you like to rule the world Scorpius?"

"What about you, Albus?" the Other Harry murmured, cheek resting against the wooden back of the arm chair. "How would you like to be somewhere where I promise no one will _ever_ call you crazy or threaten to put you in Saint Mungo's again?"

* * *

A/N: Hi everybody. Sorry for the lateness of this update but I thought it might make a nice Christmas present. I haven't forgotten about Ruby. I've got chapter 10 in the works and I'll resume updating more frequently next year. The last half of this year however has been devoted to setting my life into order. Apartments, applications, rings, in-laws etc… but I have missed you all desperately!

If you go to my author page there are more notes about next year including the fact that I'm going to start putting up first drafts of chapters on my Live Journal (_OzmaTheWicked_) for this and other fics (including some desperately naught stuff most likely). I will add anyone who wants to send me a friend request there but I'll also make the chapters public. That's mainly because, as you might remember me mentioning, you guys don't get the chapters here on FFN till about the fourth edit between my Beta and I.

1) As always, my favorite part, theories about Albus or Scorpius' dreams or Voldemort's evil plans? Please feel free to share guesses. I love them. Some of you have more answers than you realize!  
2) If you haven't seen the "This is War" Harry Potter AMV on youtube you're missing out.  
3) Scorpius/Albus refrain from using wand magic during this chapter, outside Riddle Manor, obviously to avoid the trace on their wands used by the Ministry. Even if they didn't you'd remember Hermoine explaining in Deathly Hallows that while you can improve, multiply and reshape food you can't _create_ it out of nothing. So using magic in the Manor's pretty useless too especially with an early fifth year set of spells.  
4) My Beta got a bit confused during one of the conversations so just a brief reminder as it's been a while, it's; Xavier Zabini, Geoffrey Bulstrode and Nicholas Catchlove. Sometimes they'll be referred to using their last name rather than first.

More of Zabini, the parents and our first glances into the other side of the mirror in coming chapters until then be very cautious about vials labeled '_Drink Me_' at your Christmas parties!


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